UNIVERSITY  0     CALIFORN  A   SAN  DIEGO 


3  1822003504016 


[LIBRARY  ^ 
UNJV£«t>*l«0f 
CAUt04<.i»A 
SANDlEGO      1 


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STRAY    LEAVES 


STRANGE    LITERATURE 


STRAY  LEAVES  FROM 
STRANGE  LITERATURE 


RECONSTRUCTED  FROM  THE  ANVARI-SOHEILI, 
BAITAL  PACHISf,  MAHABHARATA,  PANTCHA- 
TANTRA,  GULISTAN,  TALMUD,  KALEWALA,  ETC. 


BY  LAFCADIO   HEARN 


BOSTON   AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


1899 


Copyright,  1884, 
BY  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


€0  mg  jfrfento, 
PAGE    M.     BAKER, 

EDITOR    OF   THE 
NEW  ORLEANS  TIMES-DEMOCRAT. 


EXPLANATORY. 


WHILE  engaged  upon  this  little  mosaic  work  of 
legend  and  fable,  I  felt  much  like  one  of  those 
merchants  told  of  in  Sindbad's  Second  Voyage, 
who  were  obliged  to  content  themselves  with 
gathering  the  small  jewels  adhering  to  certain 
meat  which  eagles  brought  up  from  the  Valley 
of  Diamonds.  I  have  had  to  depend  altogether 
upon  the  labor  of  translators  for  my  acquisitions  ; 
and  these  seemed  too  small  to  deserve  separate 
literary  setting.  Bjr  cutting  my  little  gems  ac 
cording  to  one  pattern,  I  have  doubtless  reduced 
the  beauty  of  some ;  yet  it  seemed  to  me  their 
colors  were  so  weird,  their  luminosity  so  elfish, 
that  their  intrinsic  value  could  not  be  wholly  de 
stroyed  even  by  so  clumsy  an  artificer  as  I. 

In  short,  these  fables,  legends,  parables,  etc., 
are  simply  reconstructions  of  what  impressed  me 


8  Explanatory. 

as  most  fantastically  beautiful  in  the  most  exotic 
literature  which  I  was  able  to  obtain.  With  few 
exceptions,  the  plans  of  the  original  narratives 
have  been  preserved.  Sometimes  I  have  added 
a  little,  sometimes  curtailed ;  but  the  augmenta 
tions  were  generally  made  with  material  drawn 
from  the  same  source  as  the  legend,  while  the 
abbreviations  were  effected  either  with  a  view 
to  avoid  repetition,  or  through  the  necessity  of 
suppressing  incidents  unsuited  to  the  general 
reading.  I  must  call  special  attention  to  cer 
tain  romantic  liberties  or  poetic  licenses  which 
I  have  taken. 

In  the  Polynesian  story  ("  The  Fountain  Maid 
en")  I  have  considerably  enlarged  upon  the 
legend,  which  I  found  in  Gill's  "Myths  and 
Songs  of  the  South  Pacific,"  —  a  curious  but 
inartistic  book,  in  which  much  admirable  mate 
rial  has  been  very  dryly  handled.  In  another 
portion  of  Mr.  Gill's  book  I  found  the  text  and 
translation  of  the  weird  "Thieves'  Song;"  and 
conceived  the  idea  of  utilizing  it  in  the  story, 
with  some  fanciful  changes.  The  Arabic  "  Le 
gend  of  Love "  is  still  more  apocryphal,  as  it 
consists  of  fragmentary  Arabian  stories,  borrowed 
from  De  Stendahl's  "  L' Amour,"  and  welded  into 
one  narrative. 


Explanatory.  9 

In  the  Rabbinical  legends  I  have  often  united 
several  incidents  related  about  one  personage  in 
various  of  the  Talmudic  treatises ;  but  this  sys 
tem  is  sufficiently  specified  by  references  to  the 
"  Gemara"  in  the  text.  By  consulting"  the  indices 
attached  to  Hershon's  Miscellany,  and  Schwab's 
translations  of  the  Jerusalem  Talmud,  it  was  easy 
to  collect  a  number  of  singular  traditions  attach 
ing  to  one  distinguished  Rabbi,  and  to  unite 
these  into  a  narrative.  Finally,  I  must  confess 
that  the  story  of  "Natalika"  was  not  drawn 
directly  from  Ferista,  or  Fihristah,  but  from 
Jacolliot,  a  clever  writer,  but  untrustworthy  Ori 
entalist,  whose  books  have  little  serious  value. 
Whether  true  or  false,  however,  the  legend  of 
the  statue  seemed  to  me  too  pretty  to  overlook. 

In  one  case  only  have  I  made  a  veritable  trans 
lation  from  the  French.  Leouzon  Le  Due's  literal 
version  of  the  "  Kalewala  "  seemed  to  me  the 
most  charming  specimen  of  poetical  prose  I  had 
met  with  among  translations.  I  selected  three 
incidents,  and  translated  them  almost  word  for 
word. 

Nearly  all  of  the  Italic  texts,  although  fan 
cifully  arranged,  have  been  drawn  from  the 
literatures  of  those  peoples  whose  legends  they 
introduce.  Many  phrases  were  obtained  from 


10  Explanatory. 

that  inexhaustible  treasiny  of  Indian  wisdom,  the 
"  Pantchatantra  ;  "  others  from  various  Buddhist 
works.  The  introductorj7  text  of  the  piece,  enti 
tled  "The  King's  Justice,"  was  borrowed  from 
the  Persian  "  Mantic  Uttair,"  of  Farid  Uddin 
Attar ;  and  the  text  at  the  commencement  of  the 
Buddhist  Parable  (which  was  refashioned  after 
a  narrative  in  Stanislas  Julien's  "Avadanas") 
was  taken  from  the  "  Dhammapada."  The  briefer 
stories,  I  think,  have  general^  suffered  less  at 
my  hands  than  the  lengthier  ones.  That  won 
derful  Eg}Tptian  romance  about  the  Book  of 
Thoth  is  far  more  striking  in  Maspero's  French 
translations  from  the  original  pap}"rus  ;  but  the 
Egyptian  phrases  are  often  characterized  by  a 
nakedness  rather  more  startling  than  that  of  the 
dancing  girls  in  the  mural  paintings.  .  .  . 

Upon  another  page  will  be  found  a  little 
bibliography  of  nearly  all  the  sources  whence  I 
have  drawn  my  material.  Some  volumes  are 
mentioned  only  because  they  gave  me  one  or 
two  phrases.  Thus,  I  borrowed  expressions  or 
ideas  from  "Amarou,"  from  Fauche's  translation 
of  the  "  Ritou  Sanhara,"  and  especially  from  the 
wealth  of  notes  to  Chezy's  superb  translation  of 
"  Sacountala." 

This  little  collection  has  no  claim  upon  the 


Explanatory.  11 

consideration  of  scholars.  It  is  simply  an  at 
tempt  to  share  with  the  public  some  of  those 
novel  delights  I  experienced  while  trying  to 
familiarize  myself  with  some  very  strange  and 
beautiful  literatures. 

During  its  preparation  two  notable  works  have 
appeared  with  a  partly  similar  purpose :  Helen 
Zimmern's  "  Epic  of  Kings,"  and  Edwin  Arnold's 
"  Rosar}7  of  Islam."  In  the  former  we  have  a 
charming  popular  version  of  Firdusi,  and  upon 
the  latter  are  exquisitely  strung  some  of  the  fair 
est  pearls  of  the  "  Mesnewi."  I  hope  my  far  less 
artistic  contribution  to  the  popularization  of  un 
familiar  literature  may  stimulate  others  to  pro 
duce  something  worthier  than  I  can  hope  to  do. 
My  gems  were  few  and  small :  the  monstrous  and 
splendid  await  the  coming  of  Sindbad,  or  some 
mighty  lapidary  by  whom  the}'  may  be  wrought 
into  jewel  bouquets  exquisite  as  those  bunches  of 
topaz  blossoms  and  ruby  buds  laid  upon  the  tomb 
of  Nourmahal. 

NEW  ORLEANS,  1884. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


(There  are  very  fine  English  translations  of  the  works  marked  with  an 
asterisk. ) 

ALLEGORIES,  RECITS,  CONTES,  etc.,  traduits  de  1'Arabe,  du 
Persan,  de  1'Hindustani,  et  du  Turc.  Par  M.  Garcin  de 
Tassy.  Paris,  1876.  (Includes  "  Bakawali.") 

AMAROTJ.  Anthologie  Erotique.  Texte  Sanscrit,  traduction, 
notes,  etc.,  par  A.  L.  Apudy  (Chezy).  Paris,  1831. 

AVADANAS  (LES).  Contes  et  Apologues  Indiens.  Traduits 
par  M.  Stanislas  Julien.  Paris,  1859. 

BUDDHA  (ROMANTIC  LEGEND  OF).  Translated  by  Rev. 
Samuel  Beal.  London,  1875. 

CONTES  EGYPTIENS.     Par  G.  Maspero.    Paris,  1882. 

DHAMMAPADA  (THE).  Translated  from  the  Chinese  by  Rev. 
Samuel  Beal,  B.A.  Boston,  1878. 

*GITA-GOVINDA  (LE),  ET  LE  RiTou-SANHARA.  Traduits 
par  Hippolyte  Fauche.  Paris,  1850. 

*GULISTAN  (LE),  DE  SADI.  Traduit  litteralement,  par  N. 
Semelet.  Paris,  1834. 

HINDOO  PANTHEON  (THE).  By  Major  Edward  Moor.  Lon 
don,  1861. 


14  Bibliography. 

*HITOI>ADESA   (L').      Traduit  par  E.    Lancereau.      Paris, 

1882. 

JACOLLIOT.     Voyage  aux  Ruines  de  Golconde.     Paris,  1878. 
JATAKA-TALES.    Translated  by  T.  W.  Rhuys  Davids.    Vol.  I. 

Boston,  1881. 

KALEWALA.     Traduction  de  Leouzon  Le  Due.     Paris,  1845. 
MAHABHARATA  (ONZE  EPISODES  DU).    Traduit  par  Foucaux. 

Paris,  1862. 
*MANTIC  UTTAIR.     Traduit  du  Persan  par  M.  Garcin  de 

Tassy.     Paris,  1863. 
MYTHOLOGIE  DES  ESQUIMAUX.    Par  1'Abbe  Morillot.    Paris, 

1874. 
MYTHS  AND  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH  PACIFIC.  By  Rev.  W.  W. 

Gill.     London,  1877. 
*PANTCHATANTRA  ;  ou,  LES  CINQ  LIVRES.     Traduit  par 

E.  Lancereau.     Paris,  1871. 
STENDAHL  (DE).     L' Amour. 
*SACOUNTALA.      Texte  Sanscrit,   notes    et  traduction  par 

Chezy.     Paris.    1830. 
TALMUD.     Le  Talmud  de  Jerusalem.     Traduit  par  Moiise 

Schwab.     Vols.  I. -VI.     Paris,  1878-83. 
TALMUDIC    MISCELLANY   (A).     By  Rev.  L.   P.   Hershon. 

Boston,  1882. 

VET /LAPANCHAVINSATf  ( HlNDI  VERSION   OF  THE).      Baitdl 

Pachisi;  or,  The  Twenty-Jive  Tales  of  a  Demon.     Trans« 
kted  by  W.  B.  Barker.     London,  1855. 


CONTENTS. 


STRAY  LEAVES. 

PAGE 

The  Book  of  Thoth.  From  an  Egyptian  Papyrus  .  .  19 
The  Fountain  Maiden.  A  Legend  of  the  South  Pacific  .  33 
The  Bird  Wife.  An  Esquimaux  Tradition  ....  41 


TALES    RETOLD   FROM '  INDIAN   AND    BUDDHIST 
LITERATURE. 

The  Making  of  Tilottama 49 

The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani  ,     .......     61 

Bakawali 68 

Natalika ,     .     78 

The  Corpse-Demon 85 

The  Lion 99 

The  Legend  of  the  Monster  Misfortune 102 

A  Parable  Buddhistic 108 

Pundari 113 

Yamaraja     ...............  119 

The  Lotos  of  Faith  .  131 


16  Contents. 

BUNES  FROM  THE  KALEWALA. 

PAGE 

The  Magical  Words 137 

The  First  Musician 150 

The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen  . 157 

STOEIES  OF  MOSLEM  LANDS. 

Boutimar,  the  Dove 169 

The  Son  of  a  Robber 175 

A  Legend  of  Love 181 

The  King's  Justice 186 

TRADITIONS  RETOLD  FROM  THE  TALMUD. 

A  Legend  of  Rabba 191 

The  Mockers 198 

Esther's  Choice 203 

The  Dispute  in  the  Halacha 210 

Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai 216 

A  Tradition  of  Titus  .  , 220 


STRAY   LEAVES. 


THE   BOOK   OF   THOTH. 


An  Egyptian  tale  ofweirdncss,  as  told  in  a  demotic  papy 
rus  found  in  the  necropolis  of  Deir-el-Mcdineh  among  the 
ruins  of  hundred-gated  Thebes.  .  .  .  Written  in  the  thirty- 
fifth  year  of  the  reign  of  some  forgotten  Ptolomceus,  and  in  the 
month  of  Tybi  completed  by  a  scribe  famous  among  magi 
cians.  .  .  .  Dedicated,  dmibtlcss,  to  Thoth,  Lord  of  all  Scribes, 
Grand  Master  of  all  Sorcerers ;  whose  grace  had  been  rever 
ently  invoked  upon  whomsoever  might  speak  well  concerning 
the  same  papyrus.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  THOTIT,  the  divine,  lord  of  scribes,  most 
excellent  of  workers,  prince  of  wizards,  once,  it 
is  said,  wrote  with  his  own  hand  a  book  sur 
passing  all  other  books,  and  containing  two  magi 
cal  formulas  only.  Whosoever  could  recite  the 
first  of  these  formulas  would  become  forthwith 
second  only  to  the  gods,  — for  by  its  simple  utter 
ance  the  mountains  and  the  valleys,  the  ocean 


20  The  Book  of  Thoth. 

and  the  clouds,  the  heights  of  heaven  and  the 
deeps  of  hell,  would  be  made  subject  unto  his 
will ;  while  the  birds  of  air,  the  reptiles  of  dark 
ness,  and  the  fishes  of  the  waters,  would  be 
thereby  compelled  to  appear,  and  to  make  mani 
fest  the  thoughts  secreted  within  their  hearts. 
But  whosoever  could  recite  the  second  formula 
might  never  know  death,  —  for  even  though 
buried  within  the  entrails  of  the  earth,  he  would 
still  behold  heaven  through  the  darkness  and 
hear  the  voices  of  earth  athwart  the  silence ; 
even  in  the  necropolis  he  would  still  see  the 
rising  and  setting  of  the  sun,  and  the  Cycle 
of  the  Gods,  and  the  waxing  and  waning  of 
the  moon,  and  the  eternal  lights  of  the  firma 
ment. 

And  the  god  Thoth  deposited  his  book  with 
in  a  casket  of  gold,  and  the  casket  of  gold 
within  a  casket  of  silver,  and  the  casket  of 
silver  within  a  casket  of  ivory  and  ebon}T, 
and  the  casket  of  ivory  and  ebon}^  within  a 
casket  of  palm-wood,  and  the  casket  of  palm- 
wood  within  a  casket  of  bronze,  and  the 
casket  of  bronze  within  a  casket  of  iron. 
And  he  buried  the  same  in  the  bed  of  the 
great  river  of  Egypt  where  it  flows  through 
the  Nome  of  Coptos ;  and  immortal  river  mon- 


The  Book  of  Tholh.  21 

sters  coiled  about  the  casket  to  guard  it  from 
all  magicians. 


* 
*  * 


Now,  of  all  magicians,  Noferkephtah,  the  son 
of  King  Minibphtah  (to  whom  be  life,  health, 
and  strength  forevermore  !),  first  by  cunning  dis 
covered  the  place  where  the  wondrous  book  was 
hidden,  and  found  courage  to  possess  himself 
thereof.  For  after  he  had  well  paid  the  wisest 
of  the  ancient  priests  to  direct  his  way,  Nofer 
kephtah  obtained  from  his  father  Pharaoh  a  royal 
cangia,  well  supplied  and  stoutly  manned,  wherein 
he  journeyed  to  Coptos  in  search  of  the  hidden 
treasure.  Coming  to  Coptos  after  many  days, 
he  created  him  a  magical  boat  and  a  magical 
crew  b}r  reciting  mj-stic  words ;  and  he  and  the 
shadowy  crew  with  him  toiled  to  find  the  casket ; 
and  by  the  building  of  dams  they  were  enabled 
to  find  it.  Then  Noferkephtah  prevailed  also 
against  the  immortal  serpent  by  dint  of  sorcerj" ; 
and  he  obtained  the  book,  and  read  the  mystic 
formulas,  and  made  himself  second  only  to  the 
gods. 

But  the  divinities,  being  wroth  with  him,  caused 
his  sister  and  wife  Ahouri  to  fall  into  the  Nile, 
and  his  son  also.  Noferkephtah  indeed  com 
pelled  the  river  to  restore  them ;  but  although 


22  The  Book  of  Thoth. 

the  power  of  the  book  maintained  thdir  life  after 
a  strange  fashion,  they  lived  not  as  before,  so 
that  he  had  to  bury  them  in  the  necropolis  at 
Coptos.  Seeing  these  things  and  fearing  to  return 
to  the  king  alone,  he  tied  the  book  above  his 
heart,  and  also  allowed  himself  to  drown.  The 
power  of  the  book,  indeed,  maintained  his  life 
after  a  strange  fashion ;  but  he  lived  not  as  be 
fore,  so  that  they  took  him  back  to  Thebes  as  one 
who  had  passed  over  to  Amenthi,  and  there  laid 
him  with  his  fathers,  and  the  book  also. 

Yet,  by  the  power  of  the  book,  he  lived  within 
the  darkness  of  the  tomb,  and  beheld  the  sun 
rising,  and  the  Cycle  of  the  Gods,  and  the  phases 
of  the  moon,  and  the  stars  of  the  night.  By  the 
power  of  the  book,  also,  he  summoned  to  him 
the  shadow  of  his  sister  Ahouri,  buried  at  Cop 
tos,  —  whom  he  had  made  his  wife  according  to 
the  custom  of  the  Egyptians  ;  and  there  was  light 
within  their  dwelling-place.  Thus  Noferkephtah 
knew  ghostly  happiness  in  the  company  of  the 
Ka,  or  shadow,  of  his  wife  Ahouri,  and  the  l£a 

of  his  son  Mikhonsou. 

* 
*  * 

Now,  four  generations  had  passed  since  the  time 
of  King  Minibphtah ;  and  the  Pharaoh  of  Egypt 
was  Ousirmari.  Ousirmari  had  two  sons  who 


The  Book  of  Thoth.  23 

were  learned  among  the  Egyptians,  —  Satni  was 
the  name  of  the  elder  ;  Anhathoreroou  that  of  the 
younger.  There  was  not  in  all  Egypt  so  wise  a 
scribe  as  Satni.  He  knew  how  to  read  the  sacred 
writings,  and  the  inscriptions  upon  the  amulets, 
and  the  sentences  within  the  tombs,  and  the  words 
graven  upon  the  stelae,  and  the  books  of  that 
sacerdotal  library  called  the  "Double  House  of 
Life."  Also  he  knew  the  composition  of  all  for 
mulas  of  sorcery  and  of  all  sentences  which  spir 
its  obey,  so  that  there  was  no  enchanter  like  him 
in  all  Egypt.  And  Satni  heard  of  Noferkeph- 
tah  and  the  book  of  Thoth  from  a  certain  aged 
priest,  and  resolved  that  he  would  obtain  it.  But 
the  aged  priest  warned  him,  saying,  "  Beware 
thou  dost  not  wrest  the  book  from  Noferkephtah, 
else  thou  wilt  be  enchanted  by  him,  and  compelled 
to  bear  it  back  to  him  within  the  tomb,  and  do 
great  penance." 

Nevertheless  Satni  sought  and  obtained  per 
mission  of  the  king  to  descend  into  the  necropo 
lis  of  Thebes,  and  to  take  away,  if  he  might,  the 
book  from  thence.  So  he  went  thither  with  his 
brother. 

*  * 

Three  days  and  three  nights  the  brothers  sought 
for  the  tomb  of  Noferkephtah  in  the  immeasurable 


24  The  Book  of  Thoth. 

cit}'  of  the  dead ;  and  after  they  had  threaded 
many  miles  of  black  corridors,  and  descended 
into  many  hundred  burial  pits,  and  were  weary 
with  the  deciphering  of  innumerable  inscriptions 
b}-  quivering  light  of  lamps,  they  found  his  rest 
ing-place  at  last.  Now,  when  they  entered  the 
tomb  their  eyes  were  dazzled ;  for  Noferkephtah 
was  lying  there  with  his  wife  Ahouri  beside  him  ; 
and  the  book  of  Thoth,  placed  between  them, 
shed  such  a  light  around,  that  it  seemed  like  the 
brightness  of  the  sun.  And  when  Satni  entered, 
the  Shadow  of  Ahouri  rose  against  the  right ;  and 
she  asked  him,  "  Who  art  thou?" 

Then  Satni  answered:  "I  am  Satni,  son  of 
King  Ousirmari ;  and  I  come  for  the  book  of 
Thoth  which  is  between  thee  and  Noferkephtah  ; 
and  if  thou  wilt  not  give  it  me,  I  shall  wrest  it 
away  by  force." 

But  the  Shadow  of  the  woman  replied  to  him  : 
"  Nay,  be  not  unreasoning  in  thy  words !  Do 
not  ask  for  this  book.  For  we,  in  obtaining  it, 
were  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  living  upon  earth 
for  the  term  naturally  allotted  us  ;  neither  is  this 
enchanted  life  within  the  tomb  like  unto  the  life 
of  Egypt.  Nowise  can  the  book  serve  thee  ;  there 
fore  listen  rather  to  the  recital  of  all  those  sorrows 
which  befell  us  b"  reason  of  this  book.  . . ." 


The  Book  of  Thoth.  25 

But  after  hearing  the  story  of  Ahouri,  the 
heart  of  Satni  remained  as  bronze  ;  and  he  only 
repeated :  — 

"If  thou  wilt  not  give  "me  the  book  which  is 
between  thee  and  Noferkephtah,  I  shall  wrest  it 
away  by  force." 

Then  Noferkephtah  rose  up  within  the  tomb, 
and  laughed,  saying:  "  O  Satni,  if  thou  art  in 
deed  a  true  scribe,  win  this  book  from  me  by  thy 
skill !  If  thou  art  not  afraid,  play  against  me  a 
game  for  the  possession  of  this  book,  —  a  game 
of  fifty-two!"  Now  there  was  a  chess-board 
within  the  tomb. 

Then  Satni  played  a  game  of  chess  with  Nofer 
kephtah,  while  the  -ffas,  the  Shadows,  the  Dou 
bles  of  Ahouri,  and  the  large-e^yed  boy  looked  on. 
But  the  eyes  with  which  they  gazed  upon  him, 
and  the  eyes  of  Noferkephtah  also,  strangely  dis 
turbed  him,  so  that  Satni's  brain  whirled,  and  the 
web  of  his  thought  became  entangled,  and  he 
lost !  Noferkephtah  laughed,  and  uttered  a  mag 
ical  word,  and  placed  the  chess-board  upon  Satni's 
head  ;  and  Satni  sank  to  his  knees  into  the  floor 
of  the  tomb. 

Again  they  played,  and  the  result  was  the  same. 
Then  Noferkephtah  uttered  another  magical  word, 
and  again  placed  the  chess-board  upon  Satui's 


26  The  Book  of  Thoth. 

head ;  and  Satni  sank  to  his  hips  into  the  floor 
of  the  tomb. 

Once  more  they  plaj-ed,  and  the  result  was  the 
same.  Then  Noferkephtah  uttered  a  third  magi 
cal  word,  and  laid  the  chess-board  on  Satni's 
head,  and  Satni  sank  up  to  his  ears  into  the  floor 
of  the  tomb ! 

Then  Satni  shrieked  to  his  brother  to  bring 
him  certain  talismans  quickly ;  and  the  brother 
fetched  the  talismans,  and  placed  them  upon 
Satni's  head,  and  by  magical  amulets  saved  him 
from  the  power  of  Noferkephtah.  But  having 
done  this,  Anhathoreroou  fell  dead  within  the 
tomb. 

And  Satni  put  forth  his  hand  and  took  the  book 
from  Noferkephtah,  and  went  out  of  the  tomb 
into  the  corridors ;  while  the  book  lighted  the 
way  for  him,  so  that  a  great  brightness  travelled 
before  him,  and  deep  blackness  went  after  him. 
Into  the  darkness  Ahouri  followed  him,  lament 
ing,  and  crying  out :  "  Woe  !  woe  upon  us  !  The 
light  that  gave  life  is  taken  from  us  ;  the  hideous 
Nothingness  will  come  upon  us !  Now,  indeed, 
will  annihilation  enter  into  the  tomb  !  "  But  No 
ferkephtah  called  Ahouri  to  him,  and  bade  her 
cease  to  weep,  saying  to  her  :  "  Grieve  not  after 
the  book ;  for  I  shall  make  him  bring  it  back  to 


The  Book  of  Thoth.  27 

me,  with  a  fork  and  stick  in  his  hand  and  a  lighted 

brazier  upon  his  head." 

* 

*  # 

But  when  the  king  Ousirmari  heard  of  all  that 
had  taken  place,  he  became  very  much  alarmed 
for  his  son,  and  said  to  him  :  "  Behold  !  thy  folly 
has  already  caused  the  death  of  thy  brother  An- 
hathoreroou  ;  take  heed,  therefore,  lest  it  bring 
about  thine  own  destruction  likewise.  Nofer- 
kephtah  dead  is  even  a  mightier  magician  than 
thou.  Take  back  the  book  forthwith,  lest  he 
destroy  thee." 

And  Satni  replied  :  "  Lo  !  never  have  I  owned 
a  sensual  wish,  nor  done  evil  to  living  creature  ; 
how,  then,  can  the  dead  prevail  against  me?  It 
is  only  the  foolish  scribe  —  the  scribe  who  hath 
not  learned  the  mastery  of  passions  —  that  may 
be  overcome  by  enchantment." 

And  he  kept  the  book. 

* 

*  * 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  a  few  da}'S  after, 
while  Satni  stood  upon  the  parvise  of  the  tem 
ple  of  Pthah,  he  beheld  a  woman  so  beautiful 
that  from  the  moment  his  ej'es  fell  upon  her  he 
ceased  to  act  like  one  living,  and  all  the  world 
grew  like  a  dream  about  him.  And  while  the 
young  woman  was  praying  m  the  temple,  Satni 


28  The  Book  of  T/toth. 

heard  that  her  name  was  Thotitboui,  daughter  of 
a  prophet.  Whereupon  he  sent  a  messenger  to 
her,  saying:  "Thus  declares  my  master:  I,  the 
Prince  Satni,  son  of  King  Ousirmari,  do  so  love 
thee  that  I  feel  as  one  about  to  die.  ...  If  thou 
wilt  love  me  as  I  desire,  thou  shalt  have  kingliest 
gifts  ;  otherwise,  know  that  I  have  the  power  to 
bury  thee  alive  among  the  dead,  so  that  none 
may  ever  see  thee  again." 

And  Thoutboui  on  hearing  these  words  appeared 
not  at  all  astonished,  nor  angered,  nor  terrified  ; 
but  her  great  black  eyes  laughed,  and  she  an 
swered,  saying:  "Tell  thy  master,  Prince  Satni, 
son  of  King  Ousirmari,  to  visit  me  within  my 
house  at  Bubastes,  whither  I  am  even  now  go 
ing."  .  .  .  Thereupon  she  went  away  with  her 

retinue  of  maidens. 

* 
*  * 

So  Satni  hastened  forthwith  to  Bubastes  by  the 
river,  and  to  the  house  of  Thoutboui,  the  proph 
et's  daughter.  In  all  the  place  there  was  no  house 
like  unto  her  house ;  it  was  lofty  and  long,  and 
surrounded  by  a  garden  all  encircled  with  a 
white  wall.  And  Satni  followed  Thoutboui's 
serving-maid  into  the  house,  and  by  a  coiling 
stairvvaj7  to  an  npper  chamber  wherein  were 
broad  beds  of  ebon}*  and  ivory,  and  rich  furni- 


The  Book  of  Thoth.  29 

ture  curiousby  carved,  and  tripods  with  burning 
perfumes,  and  tables  of  cedar  with  cups  of  gold. 
And  the  walls  were  coated  with  lapis-lazuli  inlaid 
with  emerald,  making  a  strange  and  pleasant  light. 
.  .  .  Thoutboui  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  robed 
in  textures  of  white,  transparent  as  the  dresses  of 
those  dancing  women  limned  upon  the  walls  of 
the  Pharaohs'  palace ;  and  as  she  stood  against 
the  light,  Satni,  beholding  the  litheness  of  her 
limbs,  the  flexibility  of  her  body,  felt  his  heart 
cease  to  beat  within  him,  so  that  he  could  not 
speak.  But  she  served  him  with  wine,  and  took 
from  his  hands  the  gifts  which  he  had  brought, — 
and  she  suffered  him  to  kiss  her. 

Then  said  Thoutboui :  u  Not  lightly  is  my  love 
to  be  bought  with  gifts.  Yet  will  I  test  thee,  since 
thou  dost  so  desire.  If  thou  wilt  be  loved  by  me, 
therefore,  make  over  to  me  by  deed  all  thou  hast, 
—  thj-  gold  and  thy  silver,  thy  lauds  and  houses, 
thy  goods  and  all  that  belongs  to  thee.  So  that 
the  house  wherein  I  dwell  may  become  thy 
house ! " 

And  Satni,  looking  into  the  long  black  jewels 
of  her  eyes,  forgot  the  worth  of  all  that  he  pos 
sessed  ;  and  a  scribe  was  summoned,  and  the 
scribe  drew  up  the  deed  giving  to  Thoutboui  all 
the  goods  of  Satni. 


30  The  Book  of  Thoth. 

Then  said  Thoutboui :  "Still  will  I  test  thee, 
since  thou  dost  so  desire.  If  thou  wilt  have 
my  love,  make  over  to  me  thy  children,  also,  as 
my  slaves,  lest  they  should  seek  dispute  with  my 
children  concerning  that  which  was  thine.  So 
that  the  house  in  which  I  dwell  may  become  thy 
house ! " 

And  Satni,  gazing  upon  the  witcher}-  of  her 
bosom,  curved  like  ivory  carving,  rounded  like 
the  eggs  of  the  ostrich,  forgot  his  loving  chil 
dren  ;  and  the  deed  was  written.  .  .  .  Even  at 
that  moment  a  messenger  came,  s<oying:  "O 
Satni,  thy  children  are  below,  and  await  thee." 
And  he  said  :  ' '  Bid  them  ascend  hither." 

Then  said  Thoutboui:  "  Still  will  I  test  thee, 
since  thou  dost  so  desire.  If  thou  wilt  have  my 
love,  let  thy  children  be  put  to  death,  lest  at  some 
future  time  they  seek  to  claim  that  which  thou 
hast  given.  So  that  the  house  in  which  I  dwell 
may  be  thy  house  !  " 

And  Satni,  enchanted  with  the  enchantment  of 
her  pliant  stature,  of  her  palmy  grace,  of  her 
ivorine  beaut}',  forgot  even  his  fatherhood,  and 
answered:  "Be  it  so;  were  I  ruler  of  heaven, 
even  heaven  would  I  give  thee  for  a  kiss." 

Then  Thoutboui  had  the  children  of  Satni  slain 
before  his  eyes  ;  yet  he  sought  not  to  save  them  1 


The  Book  of  T/ioth.  31 

She  bade  her  servant  cast  their  bodies  from  the 
windows  to  the  cats  and  to  the  dogs  below  ;  yet 
Satni  lifted  not  his  hand  to  prevent  it!  And 
while  he  drank  wine  with  Thoutboui,  he  could  hear 
the  growling  of  the  animals  that  were  eating  the 
flesh  of  his  children.  But  he  only  moaned  to  her  : 
"Give  me  tlry  love  !  I  am  as  one  in  hell  for  thy 
sake  !  "  And  she  arose,  and,  entering  another 
chamber,  turned  and  held  out  her  wonderful  arms 
to  him,  and  drew  him  to  her  with  the  sorcery  of 
her  unutterable  e}'es.  .  .  . 

But  as  Satni  sought  to  clasp  her  and  to  kiss 
her,  lo  !  her  ruddy  mouth  opened  and  extended 
and  broadened  and  deepened,  —  yawning  wider, 
darker,  quickly,  vastly,  —  a  blackness  as  of 
necropoles,  a  vastness  as  of  Amenthi  !  And 
Satni  beheld  only  a  gulf  before  him,  deepening 
and  shadowing  like  night  ;  and  from  out  the  gulf 
a  burst  of  tempest  roared  up,  and  bore  him  with 
it,  and  whirled  him  abroad  as  a  leaf.  And  his 
senses  left  him.  .  .  . 


* 


.  .  .  When  he  came  again  to  himself,  he  was 
lying  naked  at  the  entrance  of  the  subterranean 
sepulchres  ;  and  a  great  horror  and  despair  came 
upon  him,  so  that  he  purposed  ending  his  life. 
But  the  servants  of  the  king  found  him,  and  bore 


32  The  Book  of  Thoth. 

him  safely  to  his  father.  And  Ousirmari  heard  the 
ghostly  tale. 

Then  said  Ousirmari :  "  O  Satni,  Noferkephtah 
dead  is  a  mightier  magician  than  even  thou  living. 
Know,  nry  son,  first  of  all  that  thy  children  are 
alive  and  well  in  my  own  care ;  know,  also,  that 
the  woman  by  whose  beauty  thou  wert  bewitched, 
and  for  whom  thou  hast  in  thought  committed  all 
heinous  crimes,  was  a  phantom  wrought  by  No- 
ferkephtah's  magic.  Thus,  by  exciting  thee  to 
passion,  did  he  bring  thy  magical  power  to 
nought.  And  now,  nry  dear  son,  haste  with 
the  book  to  Noferkephtah,  lest  thou  perish  ut 
terly,  with  all  thy  kindred." 

So  Satni  took  the  book  of  Thoth,  and,  carry 
ing  a  fork  and  stick  in  his  hands  and  a  lighted 
brazier  upon  his  head,  carried  it  to  the  Theban 
necropolis  and  into  the  tomb  of  Noferkephtah. 
And  Ahouri  clapped  her  hands,  and  smiled  to 
see  the  light  again  return.  And  Noferkephtah 
laughed,  saying :  "Did  I  not  tell  thee  before 
hand?"  "Aj-e!"  said  Ahouri,  "thou  wert  en 
chanted,  O  Satni ! "  But  Satni,  prostrating 
himself  before  Noferkephtah,  asked  how  he 
might  make  atonement. 

"O  Satni,"  answered  Noferkephtah,  "my  wife 
and  my  son  are  indeed  buried  at  Coptos ;  these 


The  Fountain  Maiden.  33 

whom  tliou  seest  here  are  their  Doubles  only,  — 
their  Shadows,  their  Has, — maintained  with  me 
by  enchantment.  Seek  out  their  resting-place  at 
Coptos,  therefore,  and  bury  their  bodies  with  me, 
that  we  may  all  be  thus  reunited,  and  that  thou 
ma}'st  do  penance."  .  .  . 

So  Satni  went  to  Coptos,  and  there  found  an 
ancient  priest,  who  told  him  the  place  of  Ahouri's 
sepulture,  saying:  "The  father  of  the  father  of 
my  father  told  it  to  my  father's  father,  who  told 
it  to  my  father."  .  .  .  Then  Satni  found  the  bod 
ies,  and  restored  to  Noferkephtah  his  wife  and 
his  son  ;  and  thus  did  penance.  After  which  the 
tomb  of  Noferkephtah  was  sealed  up  forever  by 
Pharaoh's  order ;  and  no  man  knoweth  more  the 
place  of  Noferkephtah' s  sepulture. 


THE  FOUNTAIN  MAIDEN. 

A  legend  of  that  pacific  land  where  garments  are  worn  by 
none  save  the  dead;  where  the  beauty  of  youth  is  as  the  beauty 
of  statues  of  amber  ;  where  through  eternal  summer  even  the 
mountains  refuse  to  don  a  girdle  of  cloud.  .  .  . 

"  MIGHTY  Omataianuku ! 
"  Dark  Avaava  the  Tall ! 
3 


34  The  Fountain  Maiden. 

"  Tall  Outuutu ! 

' '  Shadow  the  way  for  us ! 

' '  Tower  as  the  cocoa-palms  before  us ! 

"  Bend  ye  as  dreams  above  the  slumberers ! 

"  Make  deeper  the  sleep  of  the  sleepers  ! 

"  Sleep,  ye  crickets  of  the  threshold !  Sleep,  ye 
never  reposing  ants !  Sleep,  ye  shining  beetles 
of  the  night ! 

"Winds,  cease  ye  from  whispering!  Restless 
grass,  pause  in  thy  rustling !  Leaves  of  the 
palms,  be  still !  Reeds  of  the  water-ways,  sway 
not !  Blue  river,  cease  thy  lipping  of  the  banks  ! 

"  Slumber,  3-6  beams  of  the  house,  ye  posts, 
great  and  small,  ye  rafters  and  ridge-poles, 
thatchings  of  grass,  woven  work  of  reeds,  win 
dows  bamboo-latticed,  doors  that  squeak  like 
ghosts,  low-glimmering  fires  of  sandal-wood,  — 
slumber  ye  all ! 

' '  O  Omataianuku  ! 

"  Tall  Outuutu ! 
4  Dark  Avaava ! 

' '  Make  shadowy  the  way  for  us  ! 

"  Tower  as  the  cocoa-palms  before  us  ! 

"  Bend  ye  as  dreams  above  the  slumberers  ! 

"  Make  deeper  the  sleep  of  the  sleepers,  — 

"  Deeper  the  sleep  of  the  winds,  — 

"  Deeper  the  sleep  of  the  waters,  — 


The  Fountain  Maiden.     .  35 

"  Dimmer  the  dimness  of  night ! 

4 '  Veil  ye  the  moon  with  your  breathings ! 

"  Make  fainter  the  fires  of  the  stars  ! 

"  In  the  name  of  the  weird  ones :  — 

"  Omataianuku ! 

"  Outuuturoraa ! 

"  Ovaavaroroa! 

"  Sleep ! 

"  Sleep !  " 

*** 

So,  with  the  rising  of  each  new  moon,  was 
heard  the  magical  song  of  the  thieves,  —  the  first 
night,  low  as  the  humming  of  the  wind  among 
the  cocoa-palms ;  louder  and  louder  each  suc 
ceeding  night,  and  clearer  and  sweeter,  until  the 
great  white  face  of  the  full  moon  flooded  the 
woods  with  light,  and  made  silver  pools  about 
the  columns  of  the  palms.  For  the  magic  of  the 
full  moon  was  mightier  than  the  witchcraft  of  the 
song ;  and  the  people  of  Rarotonga  slept  not. 
But  of  other  nights  the  invisible  thieves  did  carry 
away  many  cocoanuts  and  taros,  and  plantains 
and  bananas,  despite  the  snares  set  for  them  by 
the  people  of  Rarotonga.  And  it  was  observed 
with  terror  that  cocoanuts  were  removed  from 
the  crests  of  trees  so  lofty  that  no  human  hand 
might  have  reached  them. 


36  The  Fountain  Maiden. 

But  the  chief  Aki,  being  one  night  bjr  the  foun 
tain  Vaipiki,  which  gushes  out  from  the  place  of 
waters  that  flow  below  the  world,  beheld  rising 
up  from  the  water,  just  as  the  thin  moon  looked 
into  it,  a  youth  and  a  girl  whiter  than  the  moon 
herself,  naked  as  fishes,  beautiful  as  dreams. 
And  they  began  to  sing  a  song,  at  whose  sound 
Aki,  hidden  among  the  pandanus  leaves,  stopped 
his  ears,  —  the  wizard-song,  E  tira  Omataia- 
nuku,  E  tira  Outuuturoroa !  And  the  winds 
were  stilled,  and  the  waves  sank  to  sleep,  and 
the  palm-leaves  ceased  to  nod,  and  the  song  of 
the  crickets  was  hushed. 

* 
*  # 

Then  Aki,  devising  to  capture  them,  set  a 
great  fish-net  deep  within  the  fountain,  and  waited 
for  their  return.  The  vast  silence  of  the  night 
deepened ;  the  smoke  of  the  mountain  of  fire, 
blood-tinted  from  below,  hung  motionless  in  the 
sky,  like  a  giant's  plume  of  feathers.  At  last  the 
winds  of  the  sea  began  their  ghost  whisperings 
among  the  palm-groves  ;  a  cricket  chirped,  and  a 
million  insect-chants  responded ;  the  new  moon 
plunged  one  of  her  pale  horns  into  the  ocean  ; 
the  east  whitened  and  changed  hue  like  the  belly 
of  a  shark.  The  spell  was  broken,  the  day  was 
dawning. 


The  Fountain  Maiden.  37 

And  Aid  beheld  the  White  Ones  returning,  bear 
ing  with  them  fruits  and  nuts  and  fragrant  herbs. 
Rising  suddenly  from  his  hiding-place  among  the 
leaves,  he  rushed  upon  them ;  and  they  leaped 
into  the  fountain,  like  fishes,  leaving  their  fruits 
scattered  upon  the  brink.  But,  lo !  they  were 
caught  in  the  net ! 

Then  Aki  strove  to  pull  the  net  on  shore ;  and, 
being  a  strong  man,  he  easily  moved  it.  But,  in 
turning,  the  male  leaped  through  the  opening  of 
the  net,  and  flashed  like  a  salmon  through  the 
deeps  down  to  the  unknown  abyss  of  waters  be 
low,  so  that  Aki  caught  the  girl  only.  Vainly 
she  struggled  in  the  net ;  and  her  moon-white 
body  took  opalescent  gleams,  like  the  body  of  a 
beautiful  fish  in  the  hands  of  the  captor.  Vainly 
she  wept  and  pleaded ;  and  Aki  blocked  up  the 
bottom  of  the  fountain  with  huge  blocks  of  coral, 
lest,  slipping  away  from  him,  she  might  disappear 
again.  But,  looking  upon  the  strangeness  of  her 
beauty,  he  kissed  her  and  comforted  her ;  and  she 
ceased  at  last  to  weep.  Her  eyes  were  large  and 

dark,  like  a  tropical  heaven  flashed  with  stars. 

* 
*  * 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Aki  loved  her ;  more 
than  his  own  life  he  loved  her.  And  the  people 
wondered  at  her  beauty ;  for  light  came  from  her 


38  The  Fountain  Maiden. 

as  she  moved,  and  when  she  swam  in  the  river 
her  passage  was  like  the  path  of  the  moon  on 
waters,  — a  quivering  column  of  brightness.  Only, 
it  was  noticed  that  this  luminous  beauty  waxed 
and  waned  contrariwise  to  the  waxing  and  wan 
ing  of  the  moon :  her  whiteness  was  whitest  at 
the  time  of  the  new  moon ;  it  almost  ceased  to 
glow  when  the  face  of  the  moon  was  full.  And 
whensoever  the  new  moon  rose,  she  wept  silently, 
so  that  Aki  could  not  comfort  her,  even  after 
having  taught  her  the  words  of  love  in  the  tongue 
of  his  own  people,  —  the  tongue,  many-vowelled, 
that  wooes  the  listener  like  the  mockery  of  a 
night-bird's  song. 

*  * 

Thus  many  years  passed  away,  and  Aki  be 
came  old ;  but  she  seemed  ever  the  same,  for  the 
strange  race  to  which  she  belonged  never  grow 
old.  Then  it  was  noticed  that  her  eyes  became 
deeper  and  sweeter,  —  weirdly  sweet ;  and  Aki 
knew  that  he  would  become  a  father  in  his  age. 
Yet  she  wept  and  pleaded  with  him,  saying :  — 

"  Lo  !  I  am  not  of  thy  race,  and  at  last  I  must 
leave  thee.  If  thou  lovest  me,  sever  this  white 
body  of  mine,  and  save  our  child  ;  for  if  it  suckle 
me,  I  must  dwell  ten  years  longer  in  this  world  to 
which  I  do  not  belong.  Thou  canst  not  hurt  me 


The  Fountain  Maiden.  39 

thus  ;  for  though  I  seem  to  die,  yet  my  body  will 
live  on, — thou  mayst  not  wound  me  more  than 
water  is  wounded  by  axe  or  spear !  For  I  am 
of  the  water  and  the  light,  of  moonshine  and 
of  wind  !  And  I  may  not  suckle  thy  child.".  .  . 

But  Aki,  fearing  that  he  might  lose  both  her 
and  the  child,  pleaded  with  her  successfully.  And 
the  child  was  beautiful  as  a  white  star,  and  she 
nursed  it  for  ten  happy  years. 

But,  the  ten  years  having  passed,  she  kissed 
Aki,  and  said  to  him,  "  Alas  !  I  must  now  leave 
thee,  lest  I  die  utterly ;  take  thou  away,  there 
fore,  the  coral  rocks  from  the  fountain."  And 
kissing  him  once  more,  she  vowed  to  come  back 
again,  so  that  he  complied  at  last  with  her  request. 
She  would  have  had  him  go  with  her  ;  but  he  could 
not,  being  only  mortal  man.  Then  she  passed 

away  in  the  fountain  deeps,  like  a  gleam  of  light. 

* 
.  *  * 

The  child  grew  up  very  tall  and  beautiful,  but 
not  like  his  mother,  —  white  only  like  strangers 
from  beyond  the  sea.  In  his  e^yes  there  was,  nev 
ertheless,  a  strange  light,  brightest  at  the  time  of 
the  new  moon,  waning  with  its  waxing.  .  .  .  One 
night  there  came  a  great  storm  :  the  cocoa-palms 
bent  like  reeds,  and  a  strange  voice  came  with 
the  wind,  crying,  calling !  At  dawn  the  white 


40  The  Fountain  Maiden. 

youth  was  gone,  nor  did  human  eyes  ever  behold 
him  again. 

But  Aki  lived  beyond  a  hundred  3Tears,  waiting 
for  the  return  by  the  Vaipiki  fountain,  until  his 
hair  was  whiter  than  the  summer  clouds.  At  last 
the  people  carried  him  away,  and  laid  him  in  his 
house  on  a  bed  of  pandanus  leaves  ;  and  all  the 
women  watched  over  him,  lest  he  should  die. 

...  It  was  the  night  of  a  new  month,  and  the 
rising  of  the  new  moon.  Suddenly  a  low  sweet 
voice  was  heard,  singing  the  old  song  that  some 
remembered  after  the  passing  of  half  a  hundred 
years.  Sweeter  and  sweeter  it  grew  ;  higher  rose 
the  moon !  The  crickets  ceased  to  sing ;  the 
cocoa-palms  refused  obeisance  to  the  wind.  And 
a  heaviness  fell  upon  the  watchers,  who,  with  open 
eyes,  could  move  no  limb,  utter  no  voice.  Then 
all  were  aware  of  a  White  Woman,  whiter  than 
moonlight,  lithe-fashioned  as  a  lake-fish,  gliding  be 
tween  the  ranks  of  the  watchers  ;  and,  taking  Ak'i's 
graj'head  upon  her  bright  breast,  she  sang  to  him, 
and  kissed  him,  and  stroked  his  aged  face.  .  .  . 

The  sun  arose  ;  the  watchers  awakened.  They 
bent  over  Aki,  and  it  seemed  that  Aki  slept  lightly. 
But  when  they  called  him,  he  answered  not ;  when 
they  touched  him,  he  stirred  not.  He  slept  for 
ever!  .  .  . 


The  Bird  Wife.  41 


THE  BIRD   WIFE. 

There  the  Moon  becometh  old  and  again  young  many  times, 
as  one  that  dieth  often  and  is  reanimated  as  often  by  enchant' 
ment ;  while  the  Sun  moveth  in  a  circle  of  pallid  mists,  and 
setteth  not.  But  when  he  setteth  at  last,  it  is  still  light ;  for  the 
dead  make  red  fires  in  the  sky  above  the  icebergs  until  after 
many,  many  dim  months  he  riseth  again. 

ALL  things  there  are  white,  save  the  black  sea 
and  the  wan  fogs  ;  and  yet  it  is  hard  to  discover 
where  the  water  ends  and  the  land  begins,  for 
that  part  of  the  world  the  gods  forgot  to  finish. 
The  ice-peaks  grow  and  diminish,  and  shift  their 
range  northward  and  southward,  and  change  their 
aspects  grotesquely.  There  are  Faces  in  the  ice 
that  lengthen  and  broaden  ;  and  Forms  as  of  van 
ished  creatures.  When  it  is  full  moon  the  in 
numerable  multitude  of  dogs,  that  live  upon  dead 
fish,  howl  all  together  at  the  roaring  sea ;  and  the 
great  bears  hearing  huddle  themselves  together 
on  the  highest  heights  of  the  glaciers,  and  thence 
hurl  down  sharp  white  crags  upon  the  dogs. 
Above  all,  rising  into  the  -Red  Lights,  there  is 
a  mountain  which  has  been  a  fountain  of  living 
fire  ever  since  the  being  of  the  world ;  and  all 
the  surface  of  the  land  about  is  heaped  with  mon- 


42  The  Bird  Wife. 

strous  bones.  But  this  is  summer  in  that  place  ; 
in  winter  there  is  no  sound  but  the  groaning  of 
the  ice,  the  shrieking  of  the  winds,  the  gnashing 
of  the  teeth  of  the  floes. 

Now  there  are  men  in  those  parts,  whose  houses 
are  huts  of  snow,  lighted  by  lamps  fed  with  the 
oil  of  sea-creatures  ;  and  the  wild  dogs  obey  them. 
But  they  live  in  fear  of  the  Havstramb,  that 
monster  which  has  the  form  of  an  armless  man 
and  the  green  color  of  ancient  ice  ;  they  fear  the 
Margige,  shaped  like  a  woman,  which  cries  un 
der  the  ice  on  which  their  huts  repose ;  and  the 
goblin  Bear  whose  fangs  are  icicles ;  and  the 
Kajarissat,  which  are  the  spirits  of  the  icebergs, 
drawing  the  kayaks  under  the  black  water ;  and 
the  ghostly  ivor}T-hunter  who  drives  his  vapory 
and  voiceless  team  over  ice  thinner  than  the 
scales  of  fish ;  and  the  white  Spectre  that  lies  in 
wait  for  those  who  lose  their  way  by  night,  hav 
ing  power  to  destroy  all  whom  he  can  excite  to 
laughter  by  weird  devices ;  and  the  white-eyed 
deer  which  must  not  be  pursued.  There  also 
is  the  home  of  the  warlocks,  the  wizards,  the 
Iliseetsut,  —  creators  of  the  Tupilek. 

Now  the  Tupilek  is  of  all  awful  things  the 
most  awful,  of  all  unutterable  things  the  most 
unutterable. 


The  Bird  Wife.  43 

For  that  land  is  full  of  bones,  —  the  bones  of 
sea  monsters  and  of  earth  monsters,  the  skulls 
and  ribs  of  creatures  that  perished  in  eons  ere 
man  was  born ;  and  there  are  mountains,  there 
are  islands,  of  these  bones.  Sometimes  great  mer 
chants  from  far  southern  countries  send  thither 
ivory-hunters  with  sledges  and  innumerable  dogs 
to  risk  their  lives  for  those  white  teeth,  those  ter 
rific  tusks,  which  protrude  from  the  ice  and  from 
the  sand,  that  is  not  deep  enough  to  cover  them. 
And  the  Iliseetsut.  seek  out  the  hugest  of  these 
bones,  and  wrap  them  in  a  great  whale  skin,  to 
gether  with  the  hearts  and  the  brains  of  many 
sea  creatures  and  earth  animals  ;  and  they  utter 
strange  words  over  them.  Then  the  vast  mass 
quivers  and  groans  and  shapes  itself  into  a  form 
more  hideous,  more  enormous,  than  any  form 
created  by  the  gods  ;  it  moves  upon  many  feet ; 
it  sees  with  many  eyes ;  it  devours  with  innu 
merable  teeth ;  it  obeys  the  will  of  its  creator ; 
it  is  a  Tupilek ! 

*  * 

And  all  things  change  form  in  that  place,  — 
even  as  the  ice  shifts  its  shapes  fantastically, 
as  the  boundaries  of  the  sand  eternally  vary, 
as  bone  becomes  earth  and  earth  seems  to  be 
come  bone.  So  animals  also  take  human  like- 


44  The  Bird  Wife. 

ness,  birds  assume  human  bodies ;  for  there  is 
sorcery  in  all  things  there.  Thus  it  came  to  pass, 
one  day,  that  a  certain  ivory-hunter  beheld  a 
flock  of  sea-birds  change  themselves  into  women ; 
and  creeping  cautiously  over  the  white  snow  — 
himself  being  clad  in  white  skins  —  he  came 
suddenly  upon  them,  and  caught  hold  of  the 
nearest  one  with  a  strong  hand,  while  the  rest, 
turning  again  to  birds,  flew  southward  with  long 
weird  screams. 

Slender  was  the  girl,  like  a  young  moon,  and  as 
white  ;  and  her  ej'es  black  and  soft,  like  those  of 
the  wild  gulls.  So  the  hunter  —  finding  that  she 
struggled  not,  but  only  wept —  felt  pity  for  her, 
and,  taking  her  into  his  warm  hut  of  snow,  clothed 
her  in  soft  skins  and  fed  her  with  the  heart  of  a 
great  fish.  Then,  his  pity  Burning  to  love,  she 
became  his  wife. 

Two  years  they  lived  thus  together,  and  he  fed 
her  with  both  fish  and  flesh,  being  skilful  in  the 
use  of  the  net  and  the  bow ;  but  always  while 
absent  he  blocked  up  the  door  of  the  hut,  lest  she 
might  change  into  a  bird  again,  and  so  take  wing. 
After  she  had  borne  him  two  children,  neverthe 
less,  his  fear  passed  from  him,  like  the  memory 
of  a  dream  ;  and  she  followed  him  to  the  chase, 
manaerino;  the  bow  with  wonderful  skill.  But  she 


The  Bird  Wife.  45 

prevailed  upon  him  that  he  should  not  smite  the 
wild  gulls. 

So  they  lived  and  so  loved  until  the  children 
became  strong  and  swift. 

Then  it  came  to  pass  one  day,  while  they  were 
hunting  all  together,  that  many  birds  had  been 
killed;  and  she  called  to  the  children,  "Little 
ones,  bring  me  quickly  some  feathers !  "  And 
they  came  to  her  with  their  hands  full ;  and  she 
laid  the  feathers  upon  their  arms  and  upon  her 
own  shoulders,  and  shrieked  to  them,  "Fly! 
ye  are  of  the  race  of  birds,  37e  are  the  Wind's 
children  !  " 

Forthwith  their  garments  fell  from  them  ;  and, 
being  changed  into  wild  gulls,  mother  and  chil 
dren  rose  in  the  bright  icy  air,  circling  and  cir 
cling,  higher  and  higher,  against  the  sky.  Thrice 
above  the  weeping  father  they  turned  in  spiral 
flight,  thrice  screamed  above  the  peaks  of  glim 
mering  ice,  and,  sweeping  suddenly  toward  the  far 
south,  whirred  away  forever. 


TALES  FROM  INDIAN  AND  BUDDHIST 
LITERATURE. 


THE  MAKING  OF  TILOTTAMA. 


Which  is  told  of  in  the  holy  MAHABHARATA,  written  by  the 
blessed  Richi  Krishna- Dvaipay ana,  who  composed  it  in  twenty- 
four  thousand  slokas,  *  and  who  composed  six  millions  of  sloTcas 
likewise.  Of  the  latter  are  three  millions  in  the  keeping  of  the 
gods ;  and  one  million  five  hundred  thousand  in  the  keeping 
of  the  Gandharbas,  who  are  the  musicians  of  Indra's  Heaven  ; 
and  one  millwn  four  hundred  thousand  in  the  keeping  of  the 
Pitris,  icho  are  the  ghosts  of  the  blessed  dead  ;  and  one  hun 
dred  thousand  in  the  keeping  of  men.  .  .  .  And  the  guiltiest  of 
men  who  shall  hear  the  recital  of  the  MAHABHARATA  shall  be 
delivered  from  all  his  sins ;  neitlier  sickness  nor  misfortune 
shall  come  nigh  him. 

Now  I  shall  tell  you  how  it  happened  that  the 
great  gods  once  became  multiple-faced  and  myriad- 

1  According  to  the  exordium  in  the  Adi-Parva  of  the 
Mahabharata,  this  now  most  gigantic  of  epics  at  first  con 
sisted  of  24,000  slokas  only.  Subsequent  additions  swelled 
the  number  of  its  distiches  to  the  prodigious  figure  of 
107,389.  —  L.  H. 


50  The  Making  of  Tilottama. 

eyed  by  reason  of  a  woman's  beaut}*,  as  the  same 
is  recounted  in  the  Book  of  Great  "Weight,  —  in 

the  Mahabharata. 

* 
*  * 

In  ancient  years  there  were  two  Daiteyas,  twin 
brothers  sprung  from  the  race  of  the  Asouras,  the 
race  of  evil  genii ;  and  their  names  were  Sounda 
and  Oupasounda.  Princes  they  were  born  ;  cruel 
and  terrible  they  grew  up,  yet  were  ever  one  in 
purpose,  in  thought,  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  or 
in  the  perpetration  of  crime. 

And  in  the  course  of  time  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  brothere  resolved  to  obtain  domination  over 
the  Three  Worlds,  and  to  practise  all  those  aus 
terities  and  sacrifices  by  which  the  holiest  as 
cetics  elevate  themselves  to  divinity.  So  they 
departed  to  the  solitude  of  the  mountain  Vindhya, 
and  there  devoted  themselves  to  contemplations 
and  to  prayer,  until  their  might}*  limbs  became 
slender  as  jungle-canes,  and  their  joints  like  knots 
of  bone.  And  they  ceased  all  the  actions  of  life, 
and  forbore  all  contact  with  things  earthly,  — 
knowing  that  contact  with  earthly  things  bcget- 
teth  sensation,  and  sensation  desire,  and  desire 
corruption,  and  corruption  existence.  Thus  by 
dint  of  meditation  and  austerity  the  world  became 
for  them  as  non-existent.  By  one  effort  of  will 


The  Making  of  Tilottama.  51 

they  might  have  shaken  the  universe ;  the  world 
trembled  under  the  weight  of  their  thoughts  as 
though  laboring  in  earthquake.  Air  was  their 
onl}T  nourishment ;  they  offered  up  their  own  flesh 
in  sacrifice ;  and  the  Vindhya,  heated  by  the 
force  of  their  austerities,  smoked  to  heaven  like 
a  mountain  of  fire. 

Therefore  the  divinities,  being  terrified,  sought 
to  divert  them  from  their  austerities,  and  to  trou 
ble  their  senses  by  apparitions  of  women  and  of 
demons  and  of  gods.  But  the  Asouras  ceased  not 
a  moment  to  practise  their  mortifications,  stand 
ing  upon  their  great  toes  only,  and  keeping  their 

eyes  fixed  upon  the  sun. 

* 
*  * 

Now,  after  many  }-ears,  it  came  to  pass  that 
Brahma,  Ancient  of  Days,  Father  of  the  Creator 
of  "Worlds,  appeared  before  them  as  a  Shape  of 
light,  and  bade  them  ask  for  whatsoever  they  de 
sired.  And  they  made  answer,  with  hands  joined 
before  their  foreheads  :  "  If  the  Father  of  the  Fa 
ther  of  "Worlds  be  gratified  by  our  penances,  we 
desire  to  acquire  knowledge  of  all  arts  of  magic 
and  arts  of  war,  to  possess  the  gifts  of  beauty  and 
of  strength,  and  the  promise  of  immortality." 

But  the  Shape  of  Brahma  answered  unto  them  : 
"  Immortality  will  not  be  given  unto  you,  O 


52  The  Malting  of  Tilottama. 

Princes  of  Daitej-as,  inasmuch  as  ye  practised 
austerities  only  that  ye  might  obtain  dominion 
over  the  Three  Worlds.  Yet  will  I  grant  ye  the 
knowledge  and  power  and  the  bodily  gifts  ye  de 
sire.  Also  it  shall  be  vouchsafed  you  that  none 
shall  be  able  to  destroy  you ;  neither  among  crea 
tures  of  earth  nor  spirits  nor  gods  shall  an}'  have 
power  to  do  j'ou  hurt,  save  ye  hurt  one  another." 

Thus  the  two  Daiteyas  obtained  the  favor  of 
Brahma,  and  became  unconquerable  by  gods  or 
men.  And  they  returned  to  their  habitation,  and 
departed  utterly  from  the  path  of  righteousness, 
eating  and  drinking  and  sinning  exceedingly, 
more  than  any  of  their  evil  race  had  done  before 
them  ;  so  that  their  existence  might  be  likened  to 
one  never-ending  feast  of  unholy  pleasures.  But 
no  pleasures  could  satiate  these  Asouras,  though 
all  mortals  dwelling  with  them  suffered  by  reason 
of  monstrous  excesses. 

By  the  two  Daite}'as,  indeed,  repose  and  sleep 
were  never  desired  nor  even  needed,  — night  and 
day  were  as  one  for  them ;  but  those  mortals 
about  them  speedily  died  of  pleasure,  and  the 

Daiteyas  were  angry  with  them  because  they  died. 

* 
#  * 

Now,  at  last,  the  two  Asouras  resolved  to 
forego  pleasure  awhile,  that  they  might  make 


The  Making  of  Tilottama.  53 

the  conquest  of  the  Three  Worlds  by  force  of 
that  magical  knowledge  imparted  to  them  by  will 
of  Brahma.  And  they  warred  against  Indra's 
Heaven ;  for  it  had  been  given  them  to  move 
through  air  more  swiftly  than  demons.  The  Sou- 
ras,  indeed,  and  the  gods  knowing  of  their  com-  - 
ing  and  the  nature  of  the  powers  that  had  been 
given  them,  passed  away  to  the  Brahmaloka, 
where  dwell  the  spirits  of  the  holiest  dead.  But 
the  Daiteyas,  taking  possession  with  their  army  of 
evil  genii,  slew  many  of  the  Yakshas,  who  are  the 
guardians  of  treasures,  and  the  Rakshas,  which 
are  demons,  and  multitudes  of  all  the  beings 
which  fly  through  the  airs.  After  these  things 
they  slew  all  the  Nagas,  the  human-visaged  ser 
pents  living  in  the  entrails  of  the  world  ;  and  they 
overcame  all  the  creatures  of  the  sea. 

Then  they  made  resolve  to  extend  their  evil 
power  over  the  whole  earth,  and  to  destroy  all 
worshippers  of  the  gods.  For  the  prayers  and  the 
sacrifices  offered  up  by  the  Radjarchis  and  the 
Brahmans  continually  augmented  the  power  of 
the  gods ;  and  these  Daiteyas  therefore  hated 
exceedingly  all  holy  men.  Because  of  the  power 
given  the  wicked  princes,  none  could  oppose  their 
win,  nor  did  the  mighty  imprecations  of  the  her 
mits  and  the  Brahmans  avail.  All  worshippers  of 


54  The  Making  of  Tilottama. 

the  gods  were  destined ;  the  eternal  altar-fires 
were  scattered  and  extinguished ;  the  holy  offer 
ings  were  cast  into  the  waters ;  the  sacred  ves 
sels  were  broken ;  the  awful  temples  were  cast 
down ;  and  the  face  of  the  earth  made  vast  with 
desolation,  as  though  ravaged  b}T  the  god  of  death. 
And  the  Asouras,  changing  themselves  by  magi 
cal  art  into  the  form  of  tigers,  of  lions,  of  furious 
elephants,  sought  out  all  those  ascetics  who  lived 
in  the  secret  hollows  of  the  mountains  or  the  un 
known  recesses  of  the  forest  or  the  deep  silence 
of  the  jungles,  and  destroj'ed  them.  So  that  the 
world  became  a  waste  strewn  with  human  bones  ; 
and  there  were  no  cities,  no  populations,  no 
smoke  of  sacrifice,  no  murmur  of  prayer,  no  hu 
man  utterance, — vast  horror  only,  and  hideous 
death. 

*  * 

Then  all  the  holy  people  of  air,  —  the  Sid- 
dhas  and  the  Devarchis  and  the  Paramarchis,  — 
aghast  at  the  desolation  of  the  world,  and  filled 
with  divinest  compassion  for  the  universe,  flocked 
to  the  dwelling-place  of  Brahma,  and  made  plaint 
to  him  of  these  things  which  had  been  done,  and 
besought  him  that  he  would  destroy  the  power 
of  Sounda  and  Oupasounda.  Now  Brahma  was 
seated  among  the  gods,  surrounded  by  the  circles 


The  Making  of  Tilottama.  55 

of  the  Siddhas  and  the  Bramarchis ;  Mahadeva 
was  there,  and  Indra,  and  Agni,  Prince  of  Fire, 
and  Vayou,  Lord  of  Winds,  and  Aditaya,  the  Sun- 
god,,  who  drives  the  seven-headed  steeds,  and 
Tchandra,  the  lotos-loving  god  of  the  Moon.  And 
all  the  elders  of  heaven  stood  about  them,  —  the 
holy  Marichipas  and  Adjas  and  Avimoudhas  and 
Tedjogharbas  ;  the  Vanaprasthas  of  the  forest, 
and  the  Siddhas  of  the  airs,  and  the  Vaikhanas 
who  live  upon  roots,  and  the  sixty  thousand  lumi 
nous  Balakhilyas,  —  not  bigger  than  the  thumb  of 
a  man,  — who  sprang  from  the  hairs  of  Brahma. 

Then  from  the  violet  deeps  of  the  eternities 
Brahma  summoned  unto  him  Viswakarman,  the 
Fashioner  of  the  Universe,  the  Creator  of  Worlds, 
—  Viswakarman,  Kindler  of  all  the  Lights  of 
Heaven.  And  Viswakarman  arose  from  the  eter 
nities  as  a  star-cloud,  and  stood  in  light  before 
the  All-Father. 

And  Brahma  spake  unto  him,  saying  :  "  O 
my  golden  son,  O  Viswakarman,  create  me  a 
woman  fairer  than  the  fairest,  sweeter  than  the 
sweetest,  —  whose  beautj^  might  even  draw  the 
hearts  of  all  divinities,  as  the  moon  draweth  all 

the  waters  in  her  train.  ...  I  wait !  " 

* 
*  * 

So   Viswakarman,    veiling   himself  in   mists, 


56  The  Making  of  Tilottama. 

wrought  in  obedience  to  the  Father  of  Gods,  in 
visibly,  awfully,  with  all  manner  of  precious  gems, 
with  all  colors  of  heaven,  with  all  perfume  of 
flowers,  with  all  rays  of  light,  with  all  tones  of 
music,  with  all  things  beautiful  and  precious  to 
the  sight,  to  the  touch,  to  the  hearing,  to  the 
taste,  to  the  sense  of  odors.  And  as  vapors  are 
wrought  into  leafiest  lacework  of  frosts,  as  sun 
beams  are  transmuted  into  gems  of  a  hundred 
colors,  so,  all  mysteriously,  were  ten  thousand 
priceless  things  blended  into  one  new  substance 
of  life ;  and  the  substance  found  shape,  and  was 
resolved  into  the  body  of  a  woman.  All  blossom- 
beauty  tempted  in  her  bosom ;  all  perfume  lin 
gered  in  her  breath  ;  all  jewel-fires  made  splendor 
for  her  eyes  ;  her  locks  were  wrought  of  sunlight 
and  of  gold ;  the  flowers  of  heaven  rebudcled  in 
her  lips ;  the  pearl  and  the  fairy  opal  blended  in 
her  smile ;  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  made  with 
the  love-songs  of  a  thousand  birds.  And  a  name 
was  given  unto  her,  Tilottama,  which  signifies  in 
that  ancient  Indian  tongue,  spoken  of  gods  and 
men,  "Fair-wrought  of  daintiest  atoms."  .  .  . 
Then  Viswakarman  passed  away  as  the  glory  of 
evening  fades  out,  and  sank  into  the  Immensities, 
and  mingled  with  the  Eternities  where  no  time  or 
space  is. 


The  Making  of  Tilottama.  57 

And  Tilottama,  clothed  only  with  light  as  with 
a  garment,  joining  her  hands  before  her  luminous 
brows  in  adoration,  bowed  down  to  the  Father  of 
Gods,  and  spake  with  the  sweetest  voice  ever 
heard  even  within  the  heaven  of  heavens,  saying : 
"  O  thou  universal  Father,  let  me  know  thy  will, 
and  the  divine  purpose  for  which  I  have  been 
created." 

And  the  deep  tones  of  gold  made  answer, 
gently :  "Descend,  good  Tilottama,  into  the  world 
of  men,  and  display  the  witchcraft  of  thy  beauty 
in  the  sight  of  Sounda  and  Oupasounda,  so  that 
the  Daiteyas  may  be  filled  with  hatred,  each 
against  the  other,  because  of  thee." 

"  It  shall  be  according  to  thy  desire,  O  Mas 
ter  of  Creatures,"  answered  Tilottama  ;  and,  hav 
ing  prostrated  her  beautiful  body  thrice  before 
Brahma,  she  glided  about  the  circle  of  the  gods, 
saluting  ah1  as  she  passed. 

Now  the  great  god  Siva,  the  blessed  Mahes- 
wara,  was  seated  in  the  south,  with  face  turned 
toward  the  east ;  the  other  gods  were  looking 
toward  the  north ;  and  the  seven  orders  of  the 
richis  —  the  Devarchis,  Bramarchis,  Maharchis, 
Paramarchis,  Eadjarchis,  Kandarchis,  and  Sroutar- 
chis  —  sat  upon  every  side.  And  while  Tilottama 
passed  around  the  circle,  the  gods  strove  not  to 


58  The  Making  of  Tilotlama. 

gaze  upon  her,  lest  their  hearts  should  be  di-awn 
irresistibly  toward  that  magical  beaut}-,  created 
not  for  joy,  indeed,  but  verily  for  destruction. 
So  for  a  moment  Indra  and  the  blessed  Sthanou 
made  their  hearts  strong  against  her.  But  as  she 
drew  near  to  Maheswara,  who  kept  his  face  to 
the  east,  there  came  to  Maheswara  another  face, 
a  face  upon  the  south  side,  with  eyes  more  beau 
tiful  than  lotos-flowers.  And  when  she  turned 
behind  him,  there  came  to  him  yet  another  face 
upon  the  west  side ;  and  even  as  she  turned  to 
the  north,  there  came  to  him  a  face  upon  the 
north  side,  so  that  he  could  not  choose  but  gaze 
upon  her.  And  even  great  Indra's  bod}',  as  she 
turned  around  him,  blossomed  with  eyes,  before, 
behind,  on  every  side,  even  to  the  number  of  a 
thousand  eyes,  large  and  deep  and  ruddy-lidded. 
Thus  it  was  that  Mahadeva  became  the  Four- 
faced  God,  and  Balasoudana  the  God  with  a 
Thousand  E}Tes.  And  new  faces  grew  upon  all 
the  divinities  and  all  habitants  of  heaven  as  Tilot- 
tama  passed  around  them ;  all  became  double- 
faced,  triple-faced,  or  myriad-faced,  in  despite  of 
their  purpose  not  to  look  upon  her,  so  mighty 
was  the  magic  of  her  loveliness  !  Only  Brahma, 
Father  of  ah1  the  Gods,  remained  impassive  as 
eternity;  for  unto  him  beauty  and  hideousness, 


The  Making  of  Tilottama.  59 

light  and  darkness,  night  and  day,  death  and  life, 
the  finite  and  the  infinite,  are  ever  one  and  the 

same.  .  .  . 

* 
*  * 

Now  Sounda  and  Oupasounda  were  diverting 
themselves  with  their  wicked  women  among  the 
mountains,  when  they  first  perceived  Tilottama 
gathering  flowers ;  and  at  the  sight  of  her  their 
hearts  ceased  to  pulsate.  And  they  forgot  not 
only  all  that  the}*  had  done,  and  their  riches  and 
their  power  and  their  pleasures,  but  also  the  di 
vine  provision  that  they  could  die  only  by  each 
other's  hands.  Each  drew  near  unto  Tilottama  ; 
each  sought  to  kiss  her  mouth ;  each  repulsed  his 
brother  ;  each  claimed  her  for  himself.  And  the 
first  hatred  of  each  other  made  flame  in  their 
eyes.  "  Mine  she  shall  be!"  cried  Oupasounda. 
' '  Wrest  her  from  me  if  thou  canst ! "  roared 
Sounda  in  mad  defiance.  And  passing  from 
words  to  reproaches,  and  from  reproaches  to 
mighty  blows,  they  fell  upon  each  other  with 
their  weapons,  and  strove  together  until  both 
were  slain. 

Then  a  great  fear  came  upon  all  the  evil  com 
pany,  and  the  women  fled  shrieking  away ;  and 
the  Asouras,  beholding  the  hand  of  Brahma  in 
these  things,  trembled,  and  took  flight,  return- 


60  The  Making  of  Tilottama. 

ing  unto  their  abode  of  fire  and  darkness,  even 
unto  the  Patala,  which  is  the  habitation  of  the 

damned. 

* 
*  * 

But  Tilottama,  returning  to  the  Brahmaloka,  re 
ceived  the  commendation  of  the  gods,  and  kindly 
praise  from  Brahma,  Father  of  Worlds  and  Men, 
who  bade  her  ask  for  whatsoever  grace  she  most 
desired.  But  she  asked  him  only  that  she  might 
dwell  forever  in  that  world  of  splendors  and  of 
light,  which  the  blessed  inhabit.  And  the  Uni 
versal  Father  made  answer,  saying :  ' '  Granted 
is  thy  prayer,  O  most  seductive  among  created 
beings !  thou  shalt  dwell  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  sun,  yet  not  among  the  gods,  lest  mischief  be 
wrought.  And  the  dazzle  of  th}*  beauty  shall 
hinder  the  eyes  of  mortals  from  beholding  thee, 
that  their  hearts  be  not  consumed  because  of  thee. 
Dwell  therefore  within  the  heaven  of  the  sun 
fore  verm  ore." 

And  Brahma,  having  restored  to  Indra  the 
dominion  of  the  Three  Worlds,  withdrew  into 
the  infinite  light  of  the  Brahmaloka. 


The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani.       61 


THE  BRAHMAN  AND  HIS  BRAHMANI. 

The  wise  will  not  attach  themselves  unto  women  ;  for  women 
sport  with  the  hearts  of  those  who  love  them,  even  as  with 
ravens  whose  wing-feathers  have  been  plucked  out.  .  .  .  There 
is  honey  in  the  tongues  of  women  ;  there  is  nought  in  their 
heart  save  the  venom  halahala.  .  .  .  Their  nature  is  mobile  as 
the  eddies  of  the  sea  ;  their  affection  endures  no  longer  than  the 
glow  of  gold  above  the  place  of  sunset :  all  venom  within,  all 
fair  without,  women  are  like  unto  tlie  fruit  of  the  goundja. 
.  .  .  Therefore  the  experienced  and  wise  do  avoid  women,  even 
as  they  shun  the  water-vessels  that  are  placed  within  the  ceme 
teries.  .  .  . 

IN  the  "  Pantchopakhyana,"  and  also  in  that 
"Ocean  of  the  Rivers  of  Legend,"  which  is 
called  in  the  ancient  Indian  tongue  "  Kathasa- 
ritsagara,1'  may  be  found  this  story  of  a  Brahman 
and  his  Brahmani :  — • 

.  .  .  Never  did  the  light  that  is  in  the  eyes 
of  lovers  shine  more  tenderly  than  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Brahman  who  gave  his  life  for  the  life  of 
the  woman  under  whose  lotos-feet  he  laid  his 
heart.  Yet  what  man  lives  that  hath  not  once 
in  his  time  been  a  prey  to  the  madness  inspired 
by  woman?  .  .  . 


62       The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani. 

He  alone  loved  her ;  his  family  being  loath  to 
endure  her  presence,  —  for  in  her  tongue  was  the 
subtle  poison  that  excites  sister  against  brother, 
friend  against  friend.  But  so  much  did  he  love  her 
that  for  her  sake  he  abandoned  father  and  mother, 
brother  and  sister,  and  departed  with  his  Brah- 
mani  to  seek  fortune  in  other  parts.  Happity  his 
guardian  Deva  accompanied  him,  —  for  he  was  in 
deed  a  holy  man,  having  no  fault  but  the  folly  of 
loving  too  much  ;  and  the  Deva,  by  reason  of 
spiritual  sight,  foresaw  all  that  would  come  to 
pass. 

As  they  were  journeying  together  through  the 
elephant-haunted  forest,  the  young  woman  said 
to  her  husband  :  "  O  thou  son  of  a  venerable  man, 
thy  Brahmani  dies  of  thirst ;  fetch  her,  she  hum 
bly  prays  thee,  a  little  water  from  the  nearest 
spring."  And  the  Brahman  forthwith  hastened 
to  the  running  brook,  with  the  gourd  in  his  hand  ; 
but  when  he  had  returned  with  the  water,  he 
found  his  beloved  lying  dead  upon  a  heap  of 
leaves.  Now  this  death  was  indeed  the  unseen 
work  of  the  good  Deva. 

So,  casting  the  gourd  from  him,  the  Brahman 
burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  as  though  his  soul 
would  pass  from  him,  and  kissed  the  beautiful 
dead  face  and  the  slender  dead  feet  and  the 


The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani.       63 

golden  throat  of  his  Brahmani,  shrieking  betimes 
in  his  misery,  and  daring  to  question  the  gods  as 
to  why  they  had  so  afflicted  him.  But  even  as  he 
lamented,  a  voice  answered  him  in  syllables  clear 
as  the  notes  of  a  singing  bird:  "Foolish  man! 
wilt  thou  give  half  of  thy  life  in  order  that  thy 
Brahmani  shall  live  again  ?  " 

And  he,  in  whom  love  had  slain  all  fear,  an 
swered  untremblingly  to  the  Invisible :  "  Yea, 
C  Narayana,  half  of  my  life  will  I  give  unto  her 
gladly."  Then  spake  the  Invisible :  "  Foolish 
man !  pronounce  the  three  mystic  S3*llables." 
And  he  pronounced  them ;  and  the  Brahmani, 
as  if  awaking  from  a  dream,  unclosed  her  jewel- 
eyes,  and  wound  her  round  arms  about  her  hus 
band's  neck,  and  with  her  fresh  lips  drank  the 
rain  of  his  tears  as  the  lips  of  a  blossom  drink  ia, 

the  dews  of  the  night. 

* 
*  * 

So,  having  eaten  of  fruits  and  refreshed  them 
selves,  both  proceeded  upon  their  way ;  and  at 
last,  leaving  the  forest,  the}^  came  to  a  great 
stretch  of  gardens  lying  without  a  white  city,  — 
gardens  rainbow-colored  with  flowers  of  marvel 
lous  perfume,  and  made  cool  by  fountains  flow 
ing  from  the  lips  of  gods  in  stone  and  from  the 
trunks  of  elephants  of  rock.  Then  said  the 


64       The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani. 

loving  husband  to  his  Brahmani :  "  Remain  here 
a  little  while,  thou  too  sweet  one,  that  I  may 
hasten  on  to  return  to  thee  sooner  with  fruits 
and  refreshing  drink.".  .  . 

Now  in  that  place  of  gardens  dwelt  a  youth, 
employed  to  draw  up  water  by  the  turning  of  a 
great  wheel,  and  to  cleanse  the  mouths  of  the 
fountains  ;  and  although  a  3routh,  he  had  been 
long  consumed  by  one  of  those  maladies  that 
make  men  tremble  with  cold  beneath  a  sky  of 
fire,  so  that  there  was  little  of  his  youthfulness 
left  to  him  excepting  his  voice.  But  with  that 
voice  he  charmed  the  hearts  of  women,  as  the 
juggler  charms  the  hooded  serpent ;  and,  seeing 
the  wife  of  the  Brahman,  he  sang  that  she  might 
hear. 

He  sang  as  the  birds  sing  in  the  woods  in  pair 
ing  time,  as  the  waters  sing  that  lip  the  curves  of 
summered  banks,  as  the  Apsaras  sang  in  other  kal- 
pas  ;  and  he  sang  the  songs  of  Amarou,  —  Ama- 
rou,  sweetest  of  all  singers,  whose  soul  had  passed 
through  a  century  of  transmigrations  in  the  bod 
ies  of  a  hundred  fairest  women,  until  he  became 
the  world's  master  in  all  mysteries  of  love.  And 
as  the  Brahmani  listened,  Kama  transpierced  her 
heart  with  his  flower-pointed  arrows,  so  that,  ap 
proaching  the  youth,  she  pressed  her  lips  upon 


The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani.       65 

his  lips,  and  murmured,  "  If  thou  lovest  me  not, 

I  die." 

* 
#  * 

Therefore,  when  the  Brahman  returned  with 
fruits  and  drink,  she  coaxed  him  that  he  should 
share  these  with  the  j'outh,  and  even  prayed  him 
that  he  should  bring  the  youth  along  as  a  travel 
ling  companion  or  as  a  domestic. 

"  Behold  ! "  answered  the  Brahman,  "  this  j'oung 
man  is  too  feeble  to  bear  hardship ;  and  if  he  fall 
by  the  waj'side,  I  shall  not  be  strong  enough  to 
carry  him."  But  the  Brahmani  answered,  "  Nay  ! 
should  he  fall,  then  will  I  myself  carry  him  in  my 
basket,  upon  my  head  ;  "  and  the  Brahman  yielded 
to  her  request,  although  marvelling  exceedingly. 
So  they  all  travelled  on  together. 

Now  one  day,  as  they  were  reposing  by  a  deep 
well,  the  Brahmani,  beholding  her  husband  asleep, 
pushed  him  so  that  he  fell  into  the  well ;  and  she 
departed,  taking  the  }routh  with  her.  Soon  after 
this  had  happened,  they  came  to  a  great  city  where 
a  famous  and  holy  king  lived,  who  loved  ail  Brah- 
mans  and  had  built  them  a  temple  surrounded  by 
rich  lands,  paying  for  the  land  by  laying  golden 
elephant-feet  in  lines  round  about  it.  And  the 
cunning  Brahmani,  when  arrested  by  the  toll- 
collectors  and  taken  before  this  king,  —  still 
6 


66       The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani. 

bearing  the  sick  }"outh  upon  her  head  in  a  basket, 
—  boldly  spake  to  the  king,  saying  :  "  This,  most 
holy  of  kings,  is  m}T  dearest  husband,  a  righteous 
Brahman,  who  has  met  with  affliction  while  per 
forming  the  good  works  ordained  for  such  as  he  ; 
and  inasmuch  as  heirs  sought  his  life,  I  have  con 
cealed  him  in  this  basket  and  brought  him  hither." 
Then  the  king,  being  filled  with  compassion,  be 
stowed  upon  the  Brahmani  and  her  pretended  hus 
band  the  revenues  of  two  villages  and  the  freedom 
thereof,  saying :  ' '  Thou  shalt  be  henceforth  as  my 

sister,  thou  comeliest  and  truest  of  women." 

* 
*  * 

But  the  poor  Brahman  was  not  dead ;  for  his 
good  Deva  had  preserved  his  life  within  the  well- 
pit,  and  certain  travellers  passing  \>y  drew  him 
up  and  gave  him  to  eat.  Thus  it  happened  that 
he  presently  came  to  the  same  village  in  which 
the  wicked  Brahmani  dwelt ;  and,  fearing  with  an 
exceeding  great  fear,  she  hastened  to  the  king, 
and  said,  "  Lo  !  the  enemy  who  seeketh  to  kill  my 
husband  pursueth  after  us." 

Then  said  the  king,  ' '  Let  him  be  trampled 
under  foot  by  the  elephants !  " 

But  the  Brahman,  struggling  in  the  grasp  of 
the  king's  men,  cried  out,  with  a  bitter  cry  :  "  O 
king !  art  thou  indeed  called  just,  who  will  not 


The  Brahman  and  his  Brahmani.       67 

hearken  to  the  voice  of  the  accused  ?  This  fair 
but  wicked  woman  is  indeed  my  own  wife ;  ere 
I  be  condemned,  let  her  first  give  back  to  me  that 
which  I  gave  her !  " 

And  the  king  bade  his  men  stay  their  hands. 
"  Give  him  back,"  he  commanded,  in  a  voice  of 
tempest,  "  that  which  belongs  to  him  !  " 

But  the  Brahmani  protested,  saying,  "  My  lord, 
I  have  nought  which  belongs  to  him."  So  the 
king's  brow  darkened  with  the  frown  of  a  maha- 
rajah. 

"  Give  me  back,"  cried  the  Brahman,  "  the  life 
which  I  gave  thee,  my  own  life  given  to  thee  with 
the  utterance  of  the  three  nrystic  syllables,  —  the 
half  of  rny  own  years."  >•* 

Then,  through  exceeding  fear  of  the  king,  she 
murmured,  "  Yea,  I  render  it  up  to  thee,  the  life 
thou  gavest  me  with  the  utterance  of  the  three 
mystic  syllables,  — and  fell  dead  at  the  king's 
feet. 

Thus  the  truth  was  made  manifest ;  and  hence 
the  proverb  arose  :  — 

"  /She  for  whom  I  game  up  family,  home,  and 
even  the  half  of  my  life,  hath  abandoned  me,  the 
heartless  one!  What  man  may  put  faith  in 
women  !  " 


68  Bakawali. 


BAKAWALI. 

There  is  in  the  Hindustani  language  a  marvellous  tale  written 
by  a  Moslem,  but  treating  nevertheless  of  the  ancient  gods  of 
India,  and  of  the  Apsaras  and  of  the  Rakshasas.  "  The  Rose 
of  Bakawali"  it  is  called.  Therein  also  may  be  found  many 
strange  histories  of  fountains  filled  with  magical  waters,  changing 
the  sex  of  those  who  bathe  therein  ;  and  histories  of  flowers  created 
by  witchcraft  —  never  fading  —  whose  perfumes  give  sight  to  the 
blind;  and,  above  all,  this  history  of  love  human  and  superhuman, 
for  which  a  parallel  may  not  be  found.  .  .  . 

.  .  In  days  when  the  great  Eajah  Zain-ulmuluk 
reigned  over  the  eastern  kingdoms  of  Hindostan, 
it  came  to  pass  that  Bakawali,  the  Apsara,  fell  in 
love  with  a  mortal  3'outh  who  was  none  other  than 
the  son  of  the  Rajah.  For  the  lad  was  beautiful 
as  a  girl,  beautiful  even  as  the  god  Kama,  and 
seemingly  created  for  love.  Now  in  that  land  all 
living  things  are  sensitive  to  loveliness,  even  the 
plants  themselves,  —  like  the  Asoka  that  bursts 
into  odorous  blossom  when  touched  even  by  the 
foot  of  a  comely  maiden.  Yet  was  Bakawali  fairer 
than  any  earthly  creature,  being  a  daughter  of 
the  immortals ;  and  those  who  had  seen  her,  be 
lieving  her  born  of  mortal  woman,  would  answer 
when  interrogated  concerning  her,  "  Ask  not  us  ! 


Bakawali.  69 

rather  ask  them  the  nightingale  to  sing  of  her 
beauty." 

Never  had  the  youth  Taj-ulmuluk  guessed  that 
his  beloved  was  not  of  mortal  race,  having  en 
countered  her  as  by  hazard,  and  being  secretly 
united  to  her  after  the  Gandharva  fashion.  But 
he  knew  that  her  eyes  were  preternaturally  large 
and  dark,  and  the  odor  of  her  hair  like  Tartary 
musk  ;  and  there  seemed  to  transpire  from  her 
when  she  moved  such  a  light  and  such  a  perfume 
that  he  remained  bereft  of  utterance,  while  watch 
ing  her,  and  immobile  as  a  figure  painted  upon 
a  wall.  And  the  lamp  of  love  being  enkindled 
in  the  heart  of  Bakawali,  her  wisdom,  like  a 
golden  moth,  consumed  itself  in  the  flame  thereof, 
so  that  she  forgot  her  people  utterly,  and  her  im 
mortality,  and  even  the  courts  of  heaven  wherein 
she  was  wont  to  dwell. 

* 
*  * 

In  the  sacred  books  of  the  Hindus  there  is 
much  written  concerning  the  eternal  city  Arma- 
nagar,  whose  inhabitants  are  immortal.  There 
Indra,  azure-bearded,  dwells  in  sleepless  pleas 
ure,  surrounded  by  his  never-slumbering  court  of 
celestial  bayaderes,  circling  about  him  as  the  con 
stellations  of  heaven  circle  in  their  golden  dance 
about  Surya,  the  sun.  And  this  was  Bakawali's 


70  Bakawali. 

home,  that  she  had  abandoned  for  the  love  of  a 
man. 

So  it  came  to  pass  one  night,  a  night  of  per 
fume  and  of  pleasure,  that  Indra  started  up  from 
his  couch  like  one  suddenly  remembering  a  thing 
long  forgotten,  and  asked  of  those  about  him : 
"  How  happens  it  that  Bakawali,  daughter  of 
Firoz,  no  more  appears  before  us?"  And  one 
of  them  made  answer,  saying:  "O  great  Indra, 
that  pretty  fish  hath  been  caught  in  the  net  of 
human  love !  Like  the  nightingale,  never  does 
she  cease  to  complain  because  it  is  not  possible 
for  her  to  love  even  more  ;  intoxicated  is  she  with 
the  perishable  youth  and  beauty  of  her  mortal 
lover ;  and  she  lives  only  for  him  and  in  him,  so 
that  even  her  own  kindred  are  now  forgotten  or 
have  become  to  her  objects  of  aversion.  And  it 
is  because  of  him,  O  Lord  of  Suras  and  Devas, 
that  the  rosy  one  no  longer  presents  herself  before 
thy  court." 

Then  was  Indra  wroth  ;  and  he  commanded  that 
Bakawali  be  perforce  brought  before  him,  that 
she  might  render  account  of  her  amorous  foil}'. 
And  the  Devas,  awaking  her,  placed  her  in  their 
cloud-chariot,  and  brought  her  into  the  presence 
of  Indra,  her  lips  still  humid  with  mortal  kisses, 
and  on  her  throat  red-blossom  marks  left  by  hu- 


Bakawali.  71 

man  lips.  And  she  knelt  before  him,  with  fin 
gers  joined  as  in  prayer ;  while  the  Lord  of  the 
firmament  gazed  at  her  in  silent  anger,  with  such 
a  frown  as  he  was  wont  to  wear  when  riding  to 
battle  upon  his  elephant  triple-trunked.  Then 
said  he  to  the  Devas  about  him:  "Let  her  be 
purified  by  fire,  inasmuch  as  I  discern  about  her 
an  odor  of  mortality  offensive  to  immortal  sense. 
And  even  so  often  as  she  returns  to  her  foil}',  so 
often  let  her  be  consumed  in  my  sight."  .  .  . 

Accordingly  they  bound  the  fairest  of  Apsaras, 
and  cast  her  into  a  furnace  furious  as  the  fires  of 
the  sun,  so  that  within  a  moment  her  body  was 
changed  to  a  white  heap  of  ashes.  But  over  the 
ashes  was  magical  water  sprinkled ;  and  out  of 
the  furnace  Bakawali  arose,  nude  as  one  newly 
born,  but  more  perfect  in  rosy  beauty  even  than 
before.  And  Indra  commanded  her  to  dance 
before  him,  as  she  was  wont  to  do  in  other 
days. 

So  she  danced  all  those  dances  known  in  the 
courts  of  heaven,  curving  herself  as  flowers  curve 
under  a  perfumed  breeze,  as  water  serpentines 
under  the  light ;  and  she  circled  before  them  rap 
idly  as  a  leaf-whirling  wind,  lightly  as  a  bee,  with 
myriad  variations  of  delirious  grace,  with  ever- 
shifting  enchantment  of  motion,  until  the  hearts 


72  Bakawali. 

of  all  who  looked  upon  her  were  beneath  those 
shining  feet,  and  all  cried  aloud  :  "  O  flower- 
body !  O  rose-body !  O  marvel  of  the  Garden 
of  Grace  !  blossom  of  daintiness  !  0  flower- 
body  !  » 

*  * 

Thus  was  she  each  night  obliged  to  appear  be 
fore  Indra  at  Armanagar,  and  each  night  to  suffer 
the  fiercest  purification  of  fire,  forasmuch  as  she 
would  not  forsake  her  folly  ;  and  each  night  also 
did  she  return  to  her  mortal  lover,  and  take  her 
wonted  place  beside  him  without  awaking  him, 
having  first  bathed  her  in  the  great  fountain  of 
rosewater  within  the  court. 

But  once  it  happened  that  Taj-ulmuluk  awoke 
in  the  night,  and  reaching  out  his  arms  found  she 
was  not  there.  Only  the  perfume  of  her  head 
upon  the  pillow,  and  odorous  garments  flung  in 
charming  formlessness  upon  every  divan.  .  k  . 

When  she  returned,  seemingly  fairer  than  be 
fore,  the  3'outh  uttered  no  reproach,  but  on  the 
night  following  he  slit  up  the  tip  of  his  finger 
with  a  sharp  knife,  and  filled  the  wound  with  salt 
that  he  might  not  sleep.  Then,  when  the  aerial 
chariot  descended  all  noiselessly,  like  som^  long 
cloud  moon-silvered,  he  arose  and  followed  Baka 
wali  unperceived.  Clinging  underneath  th.-j  char- 


Bakawali.  73 

iot,  he  was  borne  above  winds  even  to  Armanagar, 
and  into  the  jewelled  courts  and  into  the  presence 
of  Indra.  But  Indra  knew  not,  for  his  senses 
were  dizzy  with  sights  of  beauty  and  the  fumes 
of  soma-wine. 

Then  did  Taj-ulmuluk,  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  a  pillar,  behold  beauty  such  as  he  had  never 
befoi'e  seen  —  save  in  Bakawali  —  and  hear  music 
sweeter  than  mortal  musician  may  ever  learn. 
Splendors  bewildered  his  eyes  ;  and  the  crossing 
of  the  fretted  and  jewelled  archwork  above  him 
seemed  an  intercrossing  and  interblending  of  in 
numerable  rainbows.  But  when  it  was  given  to 
him,  all  unexpectedly,  to  view  the  awful  purifica 
tion  of  Bakawali,  his  heart  felt  like  ice  within 
him,  and  he  shrieked.  Nor  could  he  have  re 
frained  from  casting  himself  also  into  that  burst 
of  white  fire,  had  not  the  magical  words  been  pro 
nounced  and  the  wizard-water  sprinkled  before  he 
was  able  to  move  a  limb.  Then  did  he  behold 
Bakawali  rising  from  her  snowy  cinders,  —  shin 
ing  like  an  image  of  the  goddess  Lakshmi  in  the 
fairest  of  her  thousand  forms,  —  more  radiant  than 
before,  like  some  comet  returning  from  the  em 
braces  of  the  sun  with  brighter  curves  of  form  and 
longer  glories  of  luminous  hair.  .  .  . 

And    Bakawali    danced    and    departed,    Taj- 


74  Bakawali. 

ulmuluk    likewise    returning    even    as    he    had 

come.  .  .  . 

* 

*  * 

But  when  he  told  her,  in  the  dawn  of  the  morn 
ing,  that  he  had  accompanied  her  in  her  voyage 
and  had  surprised  her  secret,  Bakawali  wept  and 
trembled  for  fear.  "Alas!  alas!  what  hast  thou 
done?"  she  sobbed;  "thou  hast  become  thine 
own  greatest  enemy.  Never  canst  thou  know  all 
that  I  have  suffered  for  th}'  sake,  —  the  maledic 
tions  of  my  kindred,  the  insults  of  all  belonging 
to  my  race.  Yet  rather  than  turn  away  my  face 
from  thy  love,  I  suffered  nightly  the  agonies  of 
burning ;  I  have  died  a  myriad  deaths  rather  than 
lose  thee.  Thou  hast  seen  it  with  thine  own 
eyes  !  .  .  .  But  none  of  mankind  may  visit  unbid 
den  the  dwelling  of  the  gods  and  return  with  im 
punity.  Now,  alas !  the  evil  hath  been  done  ; 
nor  can  I  devise  any  plan  by  which  to  avert  thy 
danger,  save  that  of  bringing  thee  again  secretly 
to  Armanagar  and  charming  Indra  in  such  wise 
that  he  may  pardon  all.".  .  . 

* 

*  * 

So  Bakawali  the  Apsara  suffered  once  more  the 
agony  of  fire,  and  danced  before  the  gods,  not  only 
as  she  had  danced  before,  but  so  that  the  eyes 
of  all  beholding  her  became  dim  in  watching  the 


Bakawali.  75 

varying  curves  of  her  limbs,  the  dizzy  speed  of 
her  white  feet,  the  tossing  light  of  her  hair.  And 
the  charm  of  her  beauty  bewitched  the  tongues  of 
all  there,  so  that  the  cry,  "O  flower-body !  " 
fainted  into  indistinguishable  whispers,  and  the 
fingers  of  the  musicians  were  numbed  with  lan 
guor,  and  the  music  weakened  tremblingly,  quiv- 
eringly,  dying  down  into  an  amorous  swoon. 

And  out  of  the  great  silence  broke  the  soft 
thunder  of  Indra's  pleased  voice  :  "  O  Bakawali ! 
ask  me  for  whatever  thou  wilt,  and  it  shall  be 
accorded  thee.  By  the  Trimurti,  I  swear !  ".  .  . 
But  she,  kneeling  before  him,  with  bosom  still 
fluttering  from  the  dance,  murmured:  "I  pray 
thee,  divine  One,  only  that  thou  wilt  allow  me 
to  depart  hence,  and  dwell  with  this  mortal  whom 
I  love  during  all  the  years  of  life  allotted  unto 
him."  And  she  gazed  upon  the  youth  Taj- 
ulmuluk. 

But  Indra,  hearing  these  words,  and  looking 
also  at  Taj-ulmuluk,  frowned  so  darkly  that 
gloom  filled  all  the  courts  of  heaven.  And  he 
said  :  "  Thou,  also,  son  of  man,  wouldst  doubtless 
make  the  same  pra}'er ;  yet  think  not  thou  mayst 
take  hence  an  Apsara  like  Bakawali  to  make  her 
thy  wife  without  grief  to  thyself!  And  as  for 
thee,  O  shameless  Bakawali,  thou  mayst  depart 


76  Bakawali. 

with  him,  indeed,  since  I  have  sworn ;  but  I  swear 
also  to  thee  that  from  thy  waist  unto  thy  feet  thou 
shalt  remain  a  woman  of  marble  for  the  space  of 
twelve  years.  .  .  .  Now  let  thy  lover  rejoice  in 
thee !  ".  .  . 

*  # 

.  .  .  And  Bakawali  was  placed  in  the  chamber 
of  a  ruined  pagoda,  deep-buried  within  the  forests 
of  Ceylon  ;  and  there  did  she  pass  the  years,  sit 
ting  upon  a  seat  of  stone,  herself  stone  from  feet 
to  waist.  But  Taj-ulmuluk  found  her  and  minis 
tered  unto  her  as  to  the  statue  of  a  goddess  ;  and 
he  waited  for  her  through  the  long  years. 

The  ruined  pavement,  grass-disjointed,  trem 
bled  to  the  passing  tread  of  wild  elephants  ;  often 
did  tigers  peer  through  the  pillared  entrance,  with 
63~es  flaming  like  emeralds  ;  but  Taj-ulmuluk  was 
never  weary  nor  afraid,  and  he  waited  by  her 
through  all  the  weary  and  fearful  years. 

Gem-e}Tecl  lizards  clung  and  wondered  ;  serpents 
watched  with  marvellous  chrysolite  gaze ;  vast 
spiders  wove  their  silvered  lace  above  the  head 
of  the  human  statue  ;  sunset-feathered  birds,  with 
huge  and  flesh-colored  beaks,  hatched  their  young 
in  peace  under  the  eyes  of  Bakawali.  .  .  .  Until 
it  came  to  pass  at  the  close  of  the  eleventh  year, 
—  Taj-ulmuluk  being  in  search  of  food,  —  that 


Bakawali.  77 

the  great  ruin  fell,  burying  the  helpless  Apsara 
under  a  ponderous  and  monstrous  destruction  be 
yond  the  power  of  any  single  arm  to  remove.  .  .  . 
Then  Taj-ulmuluk  wept ;  but  he  still  waited, 
knowing  that  the  immortals  could  not  die. 

And  out  of  the  shapeless  mass  of  ruins  there 
soon  grew  a  marvellous  tree,  graceful,  dainty, 
round-limbed  like  a  woman ;  and  Taj-ulmuluk 
watched  it  waxing  tall  under  the  mighty  heat  of 
the  summer,  bearing  flowers  lovelier  than  that 
narcissus  whose  blossoms  have  been  compared 
to  the  eyes  of  Oriental  girls,  and  rosy  fruit  as 
smooth-skinned  as  maiden  flesh. 

So  the  twelfth  year  passed.  And  with  the 
passing  of  its  last  moon,  a  great  fruit  parted 
itself,  and  therefrom  issued  the  body  of  a  woman, 
slender  and  exquisite,  whose  supple  limbs  had 
been  folded  up  within  the  fruit  as  a  butterfly  is 
folded  up  within  its  chrysalis,  comely  as  an  In 
dian  dawn,  deeper-eyed  than  ever  woman  of  earth, 
—  being  indeed  an  immortal,  being  an  Apsara,  — 
Bakawali  reincarnated  for  her  lover,  and  relieved 
from  the  malediction  of  the  gods. 


78  Natalika. 


NATALIKA. 

The  story  of  a  statue  of  sable  stone  among  the  ruins  of  Tirou- 
vicaray,  which  are  in  the  Land  of  Golconda  that  was.  .  .  .  When 
the  body  shall  have  mouldered  even  as  the  trunk  of  a  dead  tree, 
shall  have  crumbled  to  dust  even  as  a  clod  of  earth,  the  lovers  of 
the  dead  will  turn  away  their  faces  and  depart ;  but  Virtue,  re 
maining  faithful,  will  lead  the  soul  beyond  the  darknesses.  .  .  . 

THE  yellow  jungle-grasses  are  in  the  streets  of 
the  city ;  the  hooded  serpents  are  coiled  about 
the  marble  legs  of  the  gods.  Bats  suckle  their 
3'oung  within  the  ears  of  the  granite  elephants ; 
and  the  hairy  spider  spins  her  web  for  rub}r- 
throated  humming-birds  within  the  chambers  of 
kings.  The  pj'thons  breed  within  the  sanctuaries, 
once  ornate  as  the  love-songs  of  Indian  poets ; 
the  diamond  e}-es  of  the  gods  have  been  plucked 
out ;  lizards  nestle  in  the  lips  of  Siva  ;  the  centi 
pedes  writhe  among  the  friezes  ;  the  droppings  of 
birds  whiten  the  altars.  .  .  .  But  the  sacred  gate 
way  of  a  temple  still  stands,  as  though  preserved 
by  the  holiness  of  its  inscriptions:  "The  Self- 
existent  is  not  of  the  universe.  .  .  .  Man  may  not 
take  with  him  aught  of  his  possessions  beyond  the 
grave  ;  let  him  increase  the  greatness  of  his  good 


Natalika.  79 

deeds,  even  a.s  the  white  ants  do  increase  the 
height  of  their  habitation.  For  neither  father 
nor  mother,  neither  sister  nor  brother,  neither 
son  nor  wife,  may  accompany  him  to  the  other 
world  ;  but  Virtue  only  may  be  his  comrade."  .  .  . 
And  these  words,  graven  upon  the  stone,  have 

survived  the  wreck  of  a  thousand  years. 

* 

*  * 

Now,  among  the  broken  limbs  of  the  gods,  and 
the  jungle  grasses,  and  the  monstrous  creeping 
plants  that  seem  striving  to  strangle  the  ele 
phants  of  stone,  a  learned  traveller  wandering  in 
recent  years  came  upon  the  statue  of  a  maiden,  in 
black  granite,  marvellously  wrought.  Her  figure 
was  nude  and  supple  as  those  of  the  women  of 
Krishna  ;  on  her  head  was  the  tiara  of  a  princess, 
and  from  her  joined  hands  escaped  a  cascade  of 
flowers  to  fall  upon  the  tablet  supporting  her  ex 
quisite  feet.  And  on  the  tablet  was  the  name 
NATALIKA ;  and  above  it  a  verse  from  the 
holy  Eamaj'ana,  which  signifies,  in  our  tongue, 
these  words  :  — 

"...  For  I  have  been  witness  of  this  marvel, 
that  by  crushing  the  flowers  in  her  hands,  she 

made  them  to  exhale  a  sweeter  perfume." 

* 

*  * 

And  this  is  the  story  of  Natalika,  as  it  is 


80  Natalika. 

told   in   the  chronicle   of  the   Moslem  historian 
Ferista :  — 

More  than  a  thousand  years  ago  there  was  war 
between  the  Khalif  Onaled  and  Dir-Rajah,  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Sindh.  The  Arab  horsemen  swept 
over  the  land  like  a  t}*phoon ;  and  their  eagle- 
visaged  hordes  reddened  the  rivers  with  blood, 
and  made  the  nights  crimson  with  the  burning  of 
cities.  Brahmanabad  they  consumed  with  fire, 
and  Alan  and  Dinal,  making  captives  of  the 
women,  and  putting  all  males  to  the  edge  of 
the  scimitar.  The  Rajah  fought  stoutly  for  his 
people  and  for  his  gods  ;  but  the  Arabs  prevailed, 
fearing  nothing,  remembering  the  words  of  the 
Prophet,  that  "  Paradise  ma3T  be  found  in  the 
shadow  of  the  crossing  of  swords."  And  at 
Brahmanabad,  Kassim,  the  zealous  lieutenant  of 
the  Khalif,  captured  the  daughter  of  the  Rajah, 

and  slew  the  Rajah  and  all  his  people. 

* 
*  * 

Her  name  was  Natalika.  When  Kassim  saw 
her,  fairer  than  that  Love-goddess  born  from  a 
lotos-flower,  her  63-68  softer  than  dew,  her  figure 
lithe  as  reeds,  her  blue-black  tresses  rippling  to 
the  gold  rings  upon  her  ankles,  —  he  swore  by  the 
Prophet's  beard  that  she  was  the  comeliest  ever 
born  of  woman,  and  that  none  should  have  her 


Natalika.  81 

save  the  Khalif  Oualed.  So  he  commanded  that  a 
troop  of  picked  horsemen  should  take  her  to  Bag 
dad,  with  much  costl}'  booty,  — jewelry  delicate 
and  light  as  feathers,  ivory  carving  miraculously 
wrought  (sculptured  balls  within  sculptured  balls), 
emeralds  and  turquoises,  diamonds  and  rubies, 
woofs  of  cashmere,  and  elephants,  and  dromeda 
ries.  And  whosoever  might  do  hurt  to  Natalika 
by  the  way,  would  have  to  pay  for  it  with  his 
head,  as  surety  as  the  words  of  the  Koran  were 
the  words  of  God's  Prophet. 

*  * 

When  Natalika  came  into  the  presence  of  the 
Khalif  of  Bagdad,  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful 
could  at  first  scarcely  believe  his  eyes,  seeing  so 
beautiful  a  maiden  ;  and  starting  from  his  throne 
without  so  much  as  looking  at  the  elephants  and 
the  jewels  and  the  slaves  and  the  other  gifts  of 
Kassim,  he  raised  the  girl  from  her  knees  and 
kissed  her  in  the  presence  of  all  the  people,  vow 
ing  that  it  rather  behooved  him  to  kneel  before 
her  than  her  to  kneel  before  him.  But  she  only 
wept,  and  answered  not.  .  .  . 

And   before  many  da}Ts  the   Khalif  bade  her 

know  that  he  desired  to  make  her  his  favorite 

wife ;  for  since  his  e}res  had  first  beheld  her  he 

could  neither  eat  nor  sleep  for  thinking  of  her. 

C 


82  Natalika. 

Therefore  he  prayed  that  she  would  cease  her 
weeping,  inasmuch  as  he  would  do  more  to  make 
her  happy  than  any  other  might  do,  save  only  the 
Prophet  in  his  paradise. 

Then  Natalika  wept  more  bitterly  than  before, 
and  vowed  herself  unworthy  to  be  the  bride  of 
the  Khalif,  although  herself  a  king's  daughter ; 
for  Kassim  had  done  her  a  grievous  wrong  ere 

sending  her  to  Bagdad.  .  .  . 

* 
*  * 

Oualed  heard  the  tale,  and  his  mustaches  curled 
with  wrath.  He  sent  his  swiftest  messengers 
to  India  with  a  sealed  parchment  containing  or 
ders  that  Kassim  should  leave  the  land  of  Sindh 
forthwith  and  hasten  to  Bassora,  there  to  await 
further  commands.  Natalika  shut  herself  up 
alone  in  her  chamber  to  weep  ;  and  the  Khalif 
wondered  that  he  could  not  comfort  her.  But 
Kassim,  leaving  Sinrlh,  wondered  much  more  why 
the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  should  have  re 
called  him,  notwithstanding  the  beauty  of  the 
gifts,  the  loveliness  of  the  captives,  the  splendor 
of  the  elephants.  Still  marvelling,  he  rode  into 
Bassora,  and  sought  the  governor  of  that  place. 
Even  while  he  was  complaining  there  came  forth 
mutes  with  bow-strings,  and  they  strangled  Kassim 
at  the  governor's  feet. 


Natalika.  83 

Da}*s  went  and  came ;  and  at  last  there  rode 
into  Bagdad  a  troop  of  fierce  horsemen,  to  the 
Khalif's  palace.  Their  leader,  advancing  into 
Oualed's  presence,  saluted  him,  and  laid  at  his 
feet  a  ghastly  head  with  blood-bedabbled  beard, 

the  head  of  the  great  captain,  Kassim. 

* 
#  # 

l'Lo!"  cried  Oualed  to  Natalika,  "I  have 
avenged  thy  wrong ;  and  now,  I  trust,  thou  wilt 
believe  that  I  love  thee,  and  truly  desire  to  set 
thee  over  my  household  as  my  wife,  my  queen, 
my  sweetly  beloved !  " 

But  Natalika  commenced  to  laugh  with  a  wild 
and  terrible  laugh.  "Know,  O  deluded  one," 
she  cried,  "  that  Kassim  was  wholly  innocent  in 
that  whereof  I  accused  him,  and  that  I  sought 
only  to  avenge  the  death  of  my  people,  the  mur 
der  of  my  brothers  and  sisters,  the  pillage  of  our 
homes,  the  sacrilegious  destruction  of  the  holy 
cit}'  Brahmanabad.  Never  shall  I,  the  daughter 
of  a  Kshatrya  king,  ally  myself  with  one  of  thy 
blood  and  creed.  I  have  lived  so  long  only  that 
T  might  be  avenged ;  and  now  that  I  am  doubly 
avenged,  by  the  death  of  our  enemy,  by  thy  hope 
less  dream  of  love  for  me,  I  die  !  "  Piercing  her 
bosom  with  a  poniard,  she  fell  at  the  Khalif's  feet. 


84  Natalika. 

But  Natalika's  betrothed  lover,  Odayah-Rajah, 
avenged  her  even  more,  driving  the  circumcised 
conquerors  from  the  land,  and  slaughtering  all 
who  fell  into  his  hands.  And  the  cruelties  the}7 
had  wrought  he  repaid  them  a  hundred-fold. 

Yet,  growing  weary  of  life  by  reason  of  Nata 
lika's  death,  he  would  not  reign  upon  the  throne 
to  which  he  had  hoped  to  lift  her  in  the  embrace 
of  love ;  but,  retiring  from  the  world,  he  be 
came  a  holy  mendicant  of  the  temple  of  Tirou- 
vicaray.  .  .  . 

And  at  last,  feeling  his  end  near,  he  dug  him 
self  a  little  grave  under  the  walls  of  the  temple  ; 
and  ordered  the  most  skilful  sculptors  to  make 
the  marble  statue  of  his  beloved,  and  that  the 
statue  should  be  placed  upon  his  grave.  Thus 
the}r  wrought  Natalika's  statue  as  the  statues  of 
goddesses  are  wrought,  but  always  according  to 
his  command,  so  that  she  seemeth  to  be  crushing 
roses  in  her  fingers.  And  when  Odayah-Rajah 
passed  away,  they  placed  the  statue  of  Natalika 
above  him,  so  that  her  feet  rest  upon  his  heart. 

"Z  have  been  icitness  of  this  marvel,  that  by 
crushing  the  flowers  within  her  hands  she  made 
them  to  exhale  a  sweeter  perfume  1 " 

"Were  not  those  flowers  the  blossoming  of  her 


The  Corpse-Demon.  85 

beautiful  youth,  made  lovelier  by  its  own  sacri 
fice? 

The  temple  and  its  ten  thousand  priests  are 
gone.  But  even  after  the  lapse  of  a  thousand 
years  a  perfume  still  exhales  from  those  roses 
of  stone ! 


THE   CORPSE-DEMON. 

There  is  a  look  written  in  the  ancient  tongue  of  India,  and 
called  VETALAPANTCHAVINSATI,  signifying  "  The  Twenty-Jive 
Tales  of  a  Demon.".  .  .  And  these  tales  are  marve/lous  above  all 
stories  told  by  nun  ;  for  wondrous  are  the  words  of  Demons,  and 
everlasting.  .  .  .  Now  this  Demon  dwelt  within  a  corpse,  and  spake 
with  the  tongue  of  the  corpse,  and  gazed  with  the  eyes  of  the  corpse. 
And  the  corpse  ivas  suspended  by  its  feet  from  a  tree  overshadow 
ing  tombs.  .  .  . 

Now  on  the  fourteenth  of  the  moonless  half  of  the  month  Bhadon, 
the  Kshatrya  king  Vikramaditi/a  was  commanded  by  a  designing 
Yogi  that  he  should  cut  down  the  corpse  and  bring  the  same  to 
him.  For  the  Yogi  thus  designed  to  destroy  the  king  in  the 
night.  .  .  . 

And  when  the  king  cut  doivn  the  corpse,  the  Demon  which  was 
in  the  corpse  laughed  and  said:  "  If  thou  shouldst  speak  once 
upon  the  way,  I  go  not  with  thee,  but  return  unto  my  tree." 
Then  the  Demon  began  to  tell  to  the  king  stories  so  strange  that 
he  could  not  but  listen.  And  at  the  end  of  each  story  the  De 
mon  would  ask  hard  questions,  threatening  to  devour  Vikrama- 
ditya  should  he  not  answer;  and  the  king,  rightly  answering, 


86  The  Corpse-Demon. 

indeed  avoided  destruction,  yet,  by  speaking,  perforce  enabled  the 
Demon  to  return  to  the  tree.  .  .  .  Now  listen  to  one  of  those  tales 
which  the  Demon  told :  — 

O  KING,  there  once  was  a  city  called  Dharmpur, 
whose  rajah  Dharmshil  built  a  glorious  temple  to 
Devi,  the  goddess  with  a  thousand  shapes  and  a 
thousand  names.  In  marble  was  the  statue  of 
the  goddess  wrought,  so  that  she  appeared  seated 
cross-legged  upon  the  cup  of  a  monstrous  lotos, 
two  of  her  four  hands  being  joined  in  pra}'er,  and 
the  other  two  uplifting  on  either  side  of  her  foun 
tain  basins,  in  each  of  which  stood  an  elephant 
spouting  perfumed  spray.  And  there  was  exceed 
ing  great  devotion  at  this  temple  ;  and  the  people 
never  wearied  of  presenting  to  the  goddess  sandal- 
wood,  unbroken  rice,  consecrated  food,  flowers, 
and  lamps  burning  odorous  oil. 

Kow  from  a  certain  city  there  came  one  day  in 
pilgrimage  to  Devi's  temple,  a  washerman  and  a 
friend  with  him.  Even  as  he  was  ascending  the 
steps  of  the  temple,  he  beheld  a  damsel  descend 
ing  toward  him,  unrobed  above  the  hips,  after 
the  fashion  of  her  people.  Sweet  as  the  moon 
was  her  face ;  her  hair  was  like  a  beautiful  dark 
cloud ;  her  eyes  were  liquid  and  large  as  a  wild 
deer's ;  her  brows  were  arched  like  bows  well 
bent ;  her  delicate  nose  was  curved  like  a  falcon's 


The  Corpse-Demon.  87 

beak ;  her  neck  was  cornel}-  as  a  dove's ;  her 
teeth  were  like  pomegranate  seeds ;  her  'lips 
ruddy  as  the  crimson  gourd ;  her  hands  and  feet 
soft  as  lotos-leaves.  Golden-yellow  was  her  skin, 
like  the  petals  of  the  champa-flowers  ;  and  the 
pilgrim  saw  that  she  was  graceful-waisted  as  a 
leopard.  And  while  the  tinkling  of  the  gold  rings 
about  her  round  ankles  receded  beyond  his  hear 
ing,  his  sight  became  dim  for  love,  and  he  prayed 
his  friend  to  discover  for  him  who  the  maiden 
might  be.  .  .  .  Now  she  was  the  daughter  of  a 
washerman. 

Then  did  the  pilgrim  enter  into  the  presence 
of  the  goddess,  having  his  mind  filled  wholly  by 
the  vision  of  that  girl ;  and  prostrating  himself 
he  vowed  a  strange  vow,  saying  :  "  O  Devi,  Maha- 
devi,  —  Mother  of  Gods  and  Monster-slayer, — 
before  whom  all  the  divinities  bow  down,  thou 
hast  delivered  the  earth  from  its  burdens  !  thou 
hast  delivered  those  that  worshipped  thee  from 
a  thousand  misfortunes !  Now  I  pray  thee,  O 
Mother  Devi,  that  thou  wilt  be  my  helper  also, 
and  fulfil  the  desire  of  nry  heart.  And  if  by  thy 
favor  I  be  enabled  to  marry  that  loveliest  of  wo 
men,  O  Devi,  verily  I  will  make  a  sacrifice  of 
my  own  head  to  thee."  Such  was  the  vow  which 
he  vowed. 


88  The  Corpse-Demon. 

But  having  returned  unto  his  city  and  to  his 
home,  the  torment  of  being  separated  from  his 
beloved  so  wrought  upon  him  that  he  became 
grievously  sick,  knowing  neither  sleep  nor  hun 
ger  nor  thirst,  inasmuch  as  love  causes  men  to 
forget  all  these  things.  And  it  seemed  that  he 
might  shortly  die.  Then,  indeed,  his  friend, 
being  alarmed,  went  to  the  father  of  the  youth, 
and  told  him  all,  so  that  the  father  also  be 
came  fearful  for  his  son.  Therefore,  accompa 
nied  by  his  son's  friend,  he  went  to  that  cit}-, 
and  sought  out  the  father  of  the  girl,  and  said 
to  him  :  "  Lo  !  I  am  of  thy  caste  and  calling,  and 
I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  thee.  It  has  come  to 
pass  that  my  son  is  so  enamored  of  thy  daughter 
that  unless  she  be  wedded  to  him  he  will  surely 
die.  Give  me,  therefore,  the  hand  of  thy  daugh 
ter  for  my  dear  son."  And  the  other  was  not  at 
all  displeased  at  these  words  ;  but,  sending  for  a 
Brahman,  he  decided  upon  a  day  of  good  omen 
for  the  marriage  to  be  celebrated.  And  he  said : 
"  Friend,  bring  thy  son  hither.  I  shall  rub  her 
hands  with  turmeric,  that  all  men  may  know  she 
is  betrothed." 

Thus  was  the  marriage  arranged ;  and  in  due 
time  the  father  of  the  youth  came  with  his  son  to 
the  city ;  and  after  the  ceremonj-  had  been  ful- 


The  Corpse-Demon.  89 

filled,  he  returned  to  his  own  people  with  his  son 
and  his  daughter-in-law.  Now  the  love  these 
young  people  held  each  for  the  other  waxed 
greater  day  by  day ;  and  there  was  no  shadow 
on  the  young  man's  happiness  saving  the  mem 
ory  of  his  vow.  But  his  wife  so  cai'essed  and 
fondled  him  that  at  last  the  recollection  of  the 
oath  faded  utterly  away. 

After  many  days  it  happened  that  the  husband 
and  wife  were  both  invited  to  a  feast  at  Dharm- 
pur ;  and  they  went  thither  with  the  friend  who 
had  before  accompanied  the  youth  upon  his  pil 
grimage.  Even  as  they  neared  the  city,  they  saw 
from  afar  off  the  peaked  and  gilded  summits  of 
Devi's  temple.  Then  the  remembrance  of  his 
oath  came  back  with  great  anguish  to  that  young 
husband.  "  Verily,"  he  thought  within  his  heart, 
' '  I  am  most  shameless  and  wicked  among  all 
perjurers,  having  been  false  in  my  vow  even  to 
Devi,  Mother  of  Gods  !  " 

And  he  said  to  his  friend:  "  I  pray  thee,  re 
main  thou  here  with  my  wife  while  I  go  to  pros 
trate  myself  before  Devi."  So  he  departed  to  the 
temple,  and  bathed  himself  in  the  sacred  pool,  and 
bowed  himself  before  the  statue  with  joined  hands. 
And  having  performed  the  rites  ordained,  he  struck 
himself  with  a  sword  a  mighty  blow  upon  his 


90  The  Corpse-Demon. 

neck,  so  that  his  head,  being  separated  from  his 
body,  rolled  even  to  the  pillared  stem  of  the  mar 
ble  lotos  upon  which  Devi  sat. 

Now  after  the  wife  and  the  dead  man's  friend 
had  long  waited  vainly,  the  friend  said  :  ' '  Surely 
he  hath  been  gone  a  great  time  ;  remain  thou  here 
while  I  go  to  bring  him  back  !  "  So  he  went  to 
the  temple,  and  entering  it  beheld  his  friend's 
body  tying  in  blood,  and  the  severed  head  be 
neath  the  feet  of  Devi.  And  he  said  to  his  own 
heart :  "  Verity  this  world  is  hard  to  live  in  !  ... 
Should  I  now  return,  the  people  would  sa}~  that 
I  had  murdered  this  man  for  the  sake  of  his  wife's 
exceeding  beaut}*."  Therefore  he  likewise  bathed 
in  the  sacred  pool,  and  performed  the  rites  pre 
scribed,  and  smote  himself  upon  the  neck  so  that 
his  head  also  was  severed  from  his  bocty  and  rolled 
in  like  manner  unto  Devi's  feet. 

Now,  after  the  young  wife  had  waited  in  vain 
alone  for  a  long  while,  she  became  much  tor 
mented  by  fear  for  her  husband's  sake,  and  went 
also  to  the  temple.  And  when  she  beheld  the 
corpses  and  the  reeking  swords,  she  wept  with 
unspeakable  anguish,  and  said  to  her  own  heart : 
"  Surety  this  world  is  hard  to  live  in  at  best ;  and 
what  is  life  now  worth  to  me  without  my  hus 
band?  Moreover,  people  will  say  that  I,  being 


The  Corpse-Demon.  91 

a  wicked  woman,  murdered  them  both,  in  order 
to  live  wickedly  without  restraint.  Let  me  there 
fore  also  make  a  sacrifice  !  ".  .  . 

Saying  these  words,  she  departed  to  the  sacred 
pool  and  bathed  therein,  and,  having  performed 
the  holy  rites,  lifted  a  sword  to  her  own  smooth 
throat  that  she  might  slay  herself.  But  even  as 
she  lifted  the  sword  a  mighty  hand  of  marble 
stayed  her  arm ;  while  the  deep  pavement  quiv 
ered  to  the  tread  of  Devi's  feet.  For  the  Mother 
of  Gods  had  arisen,  and  descended  from  her  lotos 
seat,  and  stood  beside  her.  And  a  divine  voice 
issued  from  the  grim  lips  of  stone,  saj'ing,  "O 
daughter !  dear  hast  thou  made  thyself  to  me  !  ask 
now  a  boon  of  Devi !  "  But  she  answered,  ail- 
tremblingly,  "  Divinest  Mother,  I  pray  only  that 
these  men  may  be  restored  to  life."  Then  said  the 
goddess,  "  Put  their  heads  upon  their  bodies." 

And  the  beautiful  wife  sought  to  do  according 
to  the  divine  command  ;  but  love  and  hope  and 
the  fear  of  Devi  made  dizzy  her  brain,  so  that  she 
placed  her  husband's  head  upon  the  friend's  neck, 
and  the  head  of  the  friend  upon  the  neck  of  her 
husband.  And  the  goddess  sprinkled  the  bodies 
with  the  nectar  of  immortalny,  and  they  stood  up, 
alive  and  well,  indeed,  yet  with  heads  wonderfully 
exchaned. 


92  The  Corpse-Demon. 

Then  said  the  Demon :  "  0  King  Vikramaditya  !  to  which  of 
these  two  was  she  wife  ?  Verily,  if  ihou  dost  not  rightly  answer, 
I  shall  devour  thee."  And  Vikramaditya  answered :  "Listen! 
in  the  holy  Shastra  it  is  said  that  as  the  Ganges  is  chief  among 
rivers,  and  Sumeru  chief  among  mountains,  and  the  Tree  of 
Paradise  chief  among  trees,  so  is  the  head  chief  among  the  parts 
of  the  body.  Therefore  she  was  the  wife  of  that  one  to  whose 
body  her  husband's  head  was  joined.".  .  .  Having  answered 
rightly,  the  king  suffered  no  hurt ;  but  inasmuch  as  he  had 
spoken,  it  was  permitted  the  corpse-demon  to  return  to  the  tree, 
and  hang  suspended  therefrom  above  the  tombs. 

.  .  .  And  many  times,  in  like  manner,  was  the  Demon  enabled 
1o  return  to  the  tree ;  and  even  so  many  times  did  Vikramaditaya 
take  down  and  bind  and  bear  away  the  Demon  ;  and  each  time 
the  Demon  would  relate  to  the  king  a  story  so  wild,  so  wonderful, 
that  he  could  not  choose  but  hear.  .  .  .  Now  this  is  another  of  those 
tales  which  the  Demon  told :  — 

O  king,  in  the  city  of  Dharmasthal  there  lived 
a  Brahman,  called  Kesav  ;  and  his  daughter,  who 
was  beautiful  as  an  Apsara,  had  rightly  been 
named  Sweet  Jasmine-Flower,  Madhumalati.  And 
so  soon  as  she  was  nubile,  her  father  and  her 
mother  and  her  brothers  were  all  greatly  anxious 
to  find  her  a  worthy  husband. 

Now  one  day  the  father  and  the  brother  and 
the  mother  of  the  girl  each  promised  her  hand 
to  a  different  suitor.  For  the  good  Kesav,  while 
absent  upon  a  holy  visit,  met  a  certain  Brahman 
youth,  who  so  pleased  him  that  Kesav  promised 


The  Corpse-Demon.  93 

him  Madhumalati ;  and  even  the  same  day,  the 
brother,  who  was  a  student  of  the  Shastras,  met 
at  the  house  of  his  spiritual  teacher  another  stu 
dent  who  so  pleased  him  that  he  promised  him 
Madhumalati ;  and  in  the  mean  time  there  visited 
Kesav's  home  another  young  Brahman,  who  so 
delighted  the  mother  that  she  promised  him  Mad 
humalati.  And  the  three  youths  thus  betrothed 
to  the  girl  were  all  equal  in  beaut}7,  in  strength, 
in  accomplishments,  and  even  in  years,  so  that 
it  would  not  have  been  possible  to  have  preferred 
any  one  of  them  above  the  rest.  Thus,  when  the 
father  returned  home,  he  found  the  three  youths 
there  before  him  ;  and  he  was  greatly  troubled 
upon  learning  all  that  had  taken  place.  "  Verily," 
he  exclaimed,  "there  is  but  one  girl  and  three 
bridegrooms,  and  to  all  of  the  three  has  our  word 
been  pledged ;  to  whom  shall  I  give  Madhuma 
lati  ? "  And  he  knew  not  what  to  do. 

But  even  as  he  was  thinking,  and  gazing  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  three  youths,  a  hooded 
serpent  bit  the  girl,  so  that  she  died. 

Forthwith  the  father  sent  out  for  magicians  and 
holy  men,  that  they  might  give  back  life  to  his 
daughter ;  and  the  holy  men  came  together  with 
the  magicians.  But  the  enchanters  said  that,  by 
reason  of  the  period  of  the  moon,  it  was  not  pos- 


94  The  Corpse-Demon. 

sible  for  them  to  do  aught ;  and  the  holy  men 
avowed  that  even  Brahma  himself  could  not  re 
store  life  to  one  bitten  by  a  serpent.  With  sore 
lamentation,  accordingly,  the  Brahman  performed 
the  funeral  rites ;  and  a  p}Tre  was  built,  and  the 
bodj*  of  Madhumalati  consumed  thereupon. 

Now  those  three  youths  had  beheld  the  girl  in 
her  living  beaut}^  and  all  of  them  had  been  madly 
enamoured  of  her ;  and  each  one,  because  he  had 
loved  and  lost  her,  resolved  thenceforth  to  aban 
don  the  world  and  forego  all  pleasure  in  this  life. 
All  visited  the  funeral  pyre ;  and  one  of  them 
gathered  up  all  the  girl's  bones  while  they  were 
yet  warm  from  the  flame,  and  tied  them  within  a 
bag,  and  then  went  his  way  to  become  a  fakir. 
Another  collected  the  ashes  of  her  body,  and  took 
them  with  him  into  the  recesses  of  a  forest,  where 
he  built  a  hut  and  began  to  live  alone  with  the 
memory  of  her.  The  last  indeed  took  no  relic  of 
Madhumalati,  but,  having  prayed  a  prayer,  as 
sumed  the  garb  of  a  Yogi,  and  departed  to  beg 
his  way  through  the  world.  Now  his  name  was 
Madhusudam. 

Long  after  these  things  had  happened,  Madhu 
sudam  one  day  entered  the  house  of  a  Brahman, 
to  beg  for  alms  ;  and  the  Brahman  invited  him  to 
partake  of  the  family  repast.  So  Madhusudam, 


The  Corpse-Demon.  95 

having  washed  his  hands  and  his  feet,  sate  him 
down  to  eat  beside  the  Brahman  ;  and  the  Brah 
man's  wife  waited  upon  them.  Now  it  came  to 
pass,  when  the  meal  was  still  but  half  served,  that 
the  Brahman's  little  boy  asked  for  food ;  and 
being  bidden  to  wait,  he  clung  to  the  skirt  of  his 
mother's  dress,  so  that  she  was  hindered  in  her 
duties  of  hospitality.  Becoming  angry,  therefore, 
she  seized  her  boy,  and  threw  him  into  the  fire 
place  where  a  great  fire  was ;  and  the  boy  was 
burned  to  ashes  in  a  moment.  But  the  Brahman 
continued  to  eat  as  if  nothing  had  happened  ;  and 
his  wife  continued  to  serve  the  repast  with  a 
kindly  smile  upon  her  countenance. 

And  being  horror-stricken  at  these  sights,  Mad- 
husudam  arose  from  his  sitting-place,  leaving  his 
meal  unfinished,  and  directed  his  way  toward  the 
door.  Then  the  Brahman  kindly  questioned  him, 
saying:  "  0  friend,  how  comes  it  that  thou  dost 
not  eat?  Surely  both  I  and  my  wife  have  done 
what  we  could  to  please  thee  !  " 

And  Madhusudam,  astonished  and  wroth,  an 
swered  :  ' '  How  dost  thou  dare  ask  me  why  I  do 
not  eat?  how  might  any  being,  excepting  a  Rak- 
shasa,  eat  in  the  house  of  one  by  whom  such  a 
demon-deed  hath  been  committed?"  But  the 
Brahman  smiled,  and  rose  up  and  went  to  another 


96  The  Corpse-Demon. 

part  of  the  house,  and  returned  speedilj1  with  a 
book  of  incantations,  —  a  book  of  the  science  of 
resurrection.  And  he  read  but  one  incantation 
therefrom,  when,  lo  !  the  boy  that  had  been  burned 
came  alive  and  unscorched  from  the  fire,  and  ran 
to  his  mother,  crying  and  clinging  to  her  dress  as 
before. 

Then  Madhusudam  thought  within  himself: 
"  Had  I  that  wondrous  book,  how  readily  might 
I  restore  ray  beloved  to  life  !  "  And  he  sat  down 
again,  and,  having  finished  his  repast,  remained 
in  that  house  as  a  guest.  But  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  he  arose  stealthily,  and  purloined  the 
magical  book,  and  fled  away  to  his  own  city. 

And  after  many  da}*s  he  went  upon  a  pil 
grimage  of  love  to  the  place  where  the  body  of 
Madhumalati  had  been  burned  (for  it  was  the 
anniversaiy  of  her  death) ,  and  arriving  he  found 
that  the  other  two  who  had  been  betrothed  to  her 
were  also  there  before  him.  And  lifting  up  their 
voices,  they  cried  out:  "O  Madhusudam!  thou 
hast  been  gone  man}'  j-ears  and  hast  seen  much. 
What  hast  thou  learned  of  science  ?  " 

But  he  answered:  "I  have  learned  the  sci 
ence  that  restores  the  dead  to  life."  Then  they 
prayed  him,  sa}-ing,  "Revive  thou  Madhuma 
lati  !  '  And  he  told  them  :  "Gather  ye  her  bones 


The  Corpse-Demon.  97 

together,  and  her  ashes,  and  I  will  give  her 
life." 

And  they  having  so  done,  Madhusudam  pro 
duced  the  book  and  read  a  charm  therefrom  ;  and 
the  heap  of  ashes  and  cindered  bones  shaped 
itself  to  the  command,  and  changed  color,  and 
lived,  and  became  a  beautiful  woman,  sweet  as 
a  jasmine-flower,  —  Madhumalati  even  as  she  was 
before  the  snake  had  bitten  her ! 

But  the  three  youths,  beholding  her  smile, 
were  blinded  by  love,  so  that  they  began  to 
wrangle  fiercely  together  for  the  sake  of 
her.  .  .  . 

Then  the  Demon  said:  "  0  Vikramaditaya  f  to  which  of  these 
was  she  wife  ?  Answer  rightly,  lest  I  devour  thee." 

And  the  king  answered;  "  Truly  she  was  the  wife  of  him  who 
had  collected  her  ashes,  and  taken  them  with  him  into  the  recesses 
of  the  forest,  where  he  built  a  hut  and  dwelt  alone  with  the  memory 
of  her." 

"'Naij  !  "  said  the  Demon,  "  how  could  she  have  been  restored 
to  life  had  not  the  other  also  preserved  her  bones  ?  and  despite  the 
piety  of  those  two,  how  could  she  have  been  resurrected  but  for  the 
third?" 

But  the  king  replied :  "  Even  as  the  son's  duty  is  to  preserve 
the  bones  of  his  parents,  so  did  he  who  preserved  the  bones  of 
Madhumalati  stand  to  her  only  in  the  place  of  a  son.  Even  as 
a  father  giveth  life,  so  did  he  who  reanimated  Madhumalati  stand 
to  her  only  in  the  place  of  a  father.  But  he  who  collected  her 
ashes  and  took  them  with  him  into  the  recesses  of  the  forest,  where 
1 


98  The  Corpse-Demon. 

he  built  a  hut  and  dwelt  alone  with  the  memory  of  her,  he  was 
truly  her  lover  and  rightful  husband." 

*** 

.  .  .  Many  other  hard  questions  the  Demon  also  asked,  concern 
ing  men  who  by  mayic  turned  themselves  into  women,  and  con 
cerning  corpses  animated  by  evil  spirits ;  but  the  king  answered 
all  of  them  save  one,  which  indeed  admitted  of  no  answer :  — 

O  Vikramaditaya,  when  Mahabal  was  rajah  of 
Dharmpur,  another  monarch  strove  against  him, 
and  destroyed  his  army  in  a  great  battle,  and 
slew  him.  And  the  wife  and  daughter  of  the 
dead  king  fled  to  the  forest  for  safety,  and  wan 
dered  there  alone.  At  that  time  the  rajah  Chan- 
drasen  was  hunting  in  the  forest,  and  his  son 
with  him  ;  and  they  beheld  the  prints  of  women's 
feet  upon  the  ground.  Then  said  Chandrasen : 
"  Surely  the  feet  of  those  who  have  passed  here 
are  delicate  and  beautiful,  like  those  of  women ; 
3*et  I  marvel  exceedingly  that  there  should  be 
women  in  this  desolate  place.  Let  us  pursue 
after  them  ;  and  if  the}"  be  beautiful,  I  shall  take 
to  wife  her  whose  feet  have  made  the  smallest 
of  these  tracks,  and  thou  shalt  wed  the  other." 

So  they  came  up  with  the  women,  and  were 
much  charmed  with  their  beaut}*- ;  and  the  rajah 
Chandrasen  married  the  daughter  of  the  dead 
Mahabel,  and  Chandrasen's  son  took  Mahabel's 


The  Lion.  99 

widow  to  wife.  So  that  the  father  married  the 
daughter  of  the  mother,  and  the  son  the  mother 
of  the  daughter.  .  .  . 

And  the  Demon  asked :  "  0  Vikramaditaya,  in  what  manner 
were  the  children  of  Chandrasen  and  his  son  related  by  these  mar 
riages  ?  "  But  the  king  could  not  answer.  And  because  he  re 
mained  silent  the  Demon  ivas  pleased,  and  befriended  him  in  a 
strange  and  unexpected  manner,  as  it  is  written  in  the  VETALA- 

PANTCHAVINSATI. 


THE    LION. 

Intelligence  is  better  than  much  learning ;  intelligence  is  better 
than  science  ;  the  man  that  hath  not  intelligence  shall  perish  like 
those  who  made  unto  themselves  a  lion.  ,  .  .  And  this  is  the  story 
of  the  lion,  as  related  by  the  holy  Brahman  Vichnousarman  in  the 
PANTCHOPAKHYANA. 

IN  days  of  old  there  were  four  youths  of  the 
Brahman  caste,  —  brothers,  who  loved  each  other 
with  strong  affection,  and  had  resolved  to  travel 
all  together  into  a  neighboring  empire  to  seek 
fortune  and  fame. 

Of  these  four  brothers  three  had  deeply  studied 
all  sciences,  knowing  magic,  astronomy,  alchemy, 
and  occult  arts  most  difficult  to  learn  ;  while  the 


100  The  Lion. 

fourth  had  no  knowledge  whatever  of  science, 
possessing  intelligence  only. 

Now,  as  they  were  travelling  together,  one  of 
the  learned  brothers  observed:  "Why  should  a 
brother  without  knowledge  obtain  profit  by  our 
wisdom?  Travelling  with  us  he  can  be  only  a 
burden  upon  us.  Never  will  he  be  able  to  obtain 
the  respect  of  kings,  and  therefore  must  he  remain 
a  disgrace  to  us.  Rather  let  him  return  home." 

But  the  eldest  of  all  answered :  "  Nay !  let  him 
share  our  good  luck  ;  for  he  is  our  loving  brother, 
and  we  may  perhaps  find  some  position  for  him 
which  he  can  fill  without  being  a  disgrace  to  us." 

So  they  journej'ed  along;  and  after  a  time, 
while  passing  through  a  forest,  they  beheld  the 
bones  of  a  lion  scattered  on  the  path.  These 
bones  were  white  as  milk  and  hard  as  flint,  so 
drj7  and  so  bleached  they  were. 

Then  said  he  who  had  first  condemned  the  ig 
norance  of  his  brother:  "Let  us  now  show  our 
brother  what  science  ma}7  accomplish  ;  let  us  put 
his  ignorance  to  shame  by  giving  life  to  these 
lion-bones,  and  creating  another  lion  from  them ! 
B}7  a  few  magical  words  I  can  summon  the  dry 
bones  together,  making  each  fit  into  its  place." 
Therewith  he  spake  the  words,  so  that  the  dry 
bones  came  together  with  a  clattering  sound,  — 


The  Lion.  101 

each  fitting  to  its  socket,  —  and  the  skeleton  re- 
jointed  itself  together. 

"I,"  quoth  the  second  brother,  "  can  by  a  few 
words  spread  tendons  over  the  bones,  —  each  in 
its  first  place,  —  and  thicken  them  with  muscle, 
and  redden  them  with  blood,  and  create  the  hu 
mors,  the  veins,  the  glands,  the  marrow,  the 
internal  organs,  and  the  exterior  skin."  There 
with  he  spake  the  words ;  and  the  body  of  the 
lion  appeared  upon  the  ground  at  their  feet, 
perfect,  shaggy,  huge. 

u  And  I,"  said  the  third  brother,  "  can  by  one 
word  give  warmth  to  the  blood  and  motion  to  the 
heart,  so  that  the  animal  shall  live  and  breathe 
and  devour  beasts.  And  ye  shall  hear  him  roar." 

But  ere  he  could  utter  the  word,  the  fourth 
brother,  who  knew  nothing  about  science,  placed 
his  hand  over  his  mouth.  "  Na}* !  "  he  cried,  "  do 
not  utter  the  word.  That  is  a  lion !  If  thou 
givest  him  life,  he  will  devour  us." 

But  the  others  laughed  him  to  scorn,  saying : 
41  Go  home,  thou  fool!  what  dost  thou  know  of 
science?" 

Then  he  answered  them  :  "  At  least,  delay  the 
making  of  the  lion  until  thy  brother  can  climb  up 
this  tree."  Which  they  did. 

But  hardly  had  he  ascended  the  tree  when  the 


102   The  Legend  of  the  Monster  Misfortune. 

word  was  spoken,  and  the  lion  moved  and  opened 
his  great  j-ellow  eyes.  Then  he  stretched  him 
self,  and  arose,  and  roared.  Then  he  turned 
upon  the  three  wise  men,  and  slew  them,  and 
devoured  them. 

But  after  the  lion  had  departed,  the  youth  who 
knew  nothing  of  science  descended  from  the  tree 
unharmed,  and  returned  to  his  home. 


THE   LEGEND    OF   THE    MONSTER 
MISFORTUNE. 

He  that  hath  a  hundred  desireth  a  thousand ;  he  that  hath  a 
thousand  would  have  a  hundred  thousand ;  he  that  hath  a  hun 
dred  thousand  longeth  for  the  kingdom  ;  he  that  hath  a  kingdom 
doth  wish  to  possess  the  heavens.  And  being  led  astray  by 
cupidity,  even  the  owners  of  riches  and  wisdom  do  those  things 
which  should  never  be  done,  and  seek  after  that  which  ought  never 
to  be  sought  after.  .  .  .  Wherefore  there  hath  been  written,  for  the 
benefit  oj  those  who  do  nourish  their  own  evil  passions,  this  legend 
taken  from  the  jforty  -sixth  book  of  the  FA-YOUEN-TCHOU-LIN. 

IN  those  ages  when  the  sun  shone  brighter  than 
in  these  years,  when  the  perfumes  of  flowers  were 
sweeter,  when  the  colors  of  the  world  were  fairer 
to  behold,  and  gods  were  wont  to  walk  upon  earth, 


The  Legend  of  the  Monster  Misfortune.    103 

there  was  a  certain  happy  kingdom  wherein  no 
misery  was.  Of  gems  and  of  gold  there  was  su 
perabundance  ;  the  harvests  were  inexhaustible 
as  ocean ;  the  cities  more  populous  than  ant-hills. 
So  many  j-ears  had  passed  without  war  that  plants 
grew  upon  the  walls  of  the  great  towns,  disjoint 
ing  the  rampart-stones  by  the  snak}*  strength  of 
their  roots.  And  through  all  that  land  there  was 
a  murmur  of  music  constant  as  the  flow  of  the 
Yellow  River ;  sleep  alone  interrupted  the  pur 
suit  of  pleasure,  and  even  the  dreams  of  sleepers 
were  never  darkened  by  imaginary  .woe.  For 
there  was  no  sickness  and  no  want  of  any  sort, 
so  that  each  man  lived  his  century  of  years,  and 
dying  laid  him  down  painlessl}',  as  one  seeking 
repose  after  pleasure,  —  the  calm  of  slumber  after 

the  intoxication  of  joy. 

* 
*  * 

One  da}T  the  king  of  that  country  called  all  his 
counsellors  and  ministers  and  chief  mandarins 
together,  and  questioned  them,  saying  :  "  Behold  ! 
I  have  read  in  certain  ancient  annals  which  are 
kept  within  our  chief  temple,  these  words :  '•In 
days  of  old  Misfortune  visited  the  land.'  Is 
there  among  you  one  who  can  tell  me  what  man 
ner  of  creature  Misfortune  is  ?  Unto  what  may 
Misfortune  be  likened  ?  " 


104    The  Legend  of  the  Monster  Misfortune. 

But  all  the  counsellors  and  the  ministers  and 
the  mandarins  answered :  "  O  king,  we  have  never 
beheld  it,  nor  can  we  say  what  manner  of  creature 
it  may  be." 

Thereupon  the  king  ordered  one  of  his  minis 
ters  to  visit  all  the  lesser  kingdoms,  and  to  in 
quire  what  manner  of  creature  Misfortune  might 
be,  and  to  purchase  it  at  any  price,  —  if  indeed 
it  could  be  bought,  —  though  the  price  should  be 
the  value  of  a  province. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  god,  who,  seeing  and 
hearing  these  things,  forthwith  assumed  the  fig 
ure  of  a  man,  and  went  to  the  greatest  market  of 
a  neighboring  kingdom,  taking  with  him  Misfor 
tune,  chained  with  a  chain  of  iron.  And  the  form 
of  Misfortune  was  the  form  of  a  gigantic  sow. 
So  the  minister,  visiting  that  foreign  market,  ob 
served  the  creature,  which  was  made  fast  to  a  pillar 
there,  and  asked  the  god  what  animal  it  was. 

"It  is  called  the  female  of  Misfortune,"  quoth 
the  god. 

"Is  it  for  sale?"  questioned  the  minister. 

"  Assuredly,"  answered  the  god. 

"And  the  price?" 

"  A  million  pieces  of  gold." 

"  What  is  its  daily  food  ?  " 

"  One  bushel  measure  of  needles." 


The  Legend  of  the  Monster  Misfortune.    105 

Having  paid  for  the  beast  a  million  pieces  of 
good  yellow  gold,  the  minister  was  perforce  com 
pelled  to  procure  food  for  it.  So  he  sent  out 
runners  to  all  the  markets,  and  to  the  shops  of 
tailors  and  of  weavers,  and  to  all  the  mandarins 
of  all  districts  within  the  kingdom,  to  procure 
needles.  This  caused  much  tribulation  in  the 
land,  not  only  by  reason  of  the  scarcity  of  nee 
dles,  but  also  because  of  the  affliction  to  which 
the  people  were  subjected.  For  those  who  had 
not  needles  were  beaten  with  bamboos ;  and  the 
mandarins,  desiring  to  obey  the  behest  of  the 
king's  minister,  exercised  much  severity.  The 
tailors  and  others  who  lived  by  their  needles  soon 
found  themselves  in  a  miserable  plight ;  and  the 
needlemakers,  toil  as  they  would,  could  never 
make  enough  to  satisfy  the  hunger  of  the  beast, 
although  many  died  because  of  overwork.  And 
the  price  of  a  needle  became  as  the  price  of 
emeralds  and  diamonds,  and  the  rich  gave  all 
their  substance  to  procure  food  for  this  beast, 
whose  mouth,  like  the  mouth  of  hell,  could  not 
be  satisfied.  Then  the  people  in  many  parts, 
made  desperate  by  hunger  and  the  severity  of 
the  mandarins,  rose  in  revolt,  provoking  a  war 
which  caused  the  destruction  of  many  tens  of 
thousands.  The  rivers  ran  with  blood,  yet  the 


106    The  Legend  of  the  Monster  Misfortune. 

minister  could  not  bring  the  beast  to  the  palace 
for  lack  of  needles  wherewith  to  feed  it. 

Therefore  he  wrote  at  last  to  the  king,  saying : 
"  I  have  indeed  been  able  to  find  and  to  buy 
the  female  of  Misfortune ;  but  the  male  I  have 
not  been  able  to  obtain,  nor,  with  your  Majesty's 
permission,  will  I  seek  for  it.  Lo !  the  female 
hath  alread}7  devoured  the  substance  of  this  land  ; 
and  I  dare  not  attempt  to  bring  such  a  monster 
to  the  palace.  I  pray  j'our  Majesty  therefore  that 
your  Majesty  graciously  accord  me  leave  to  de 
stroy  this  hideous  beast ;  and  I  trust  that  your 
Majest}r  will  bear  in  mind  the  saying  of  the  wise 
men  of  India :  '  Even  a  King  who  will  not 
hearken  to  advice  should  be  advised  by  faith 
ful  counsellors.' " 

Then  the  king,  being  already  alarmed  by  noise 
of  the  famine  and  of  the  revolution,  ordered  that 

the  beast  should  be  destroj-ed. 

* 
*  # 

Accordingly,  the  female  of  Misfortune  was  led 
to  a  desolate  place  without  the  village,  and  chained 
fast  with  chains  of  iron ;  and  the  minister  com 
manded  the  butchers  to  kill  it.  But  so  impene 
trable  was  its  skin  that  neither  axe  nor  knife 
could  wound  it.  Wherefore  the  soldiers  were 
commanded  to  destroy  it.  But  the  arrows  of 


The  Legend  of  the  Monster  Misfortune.    107 

the  archers  flattened  their  steel  points  upon  Mis 
fortune,  even  when  directed  against  its  eyes, 
which  were  bright  and  hard  as  diamonds  ;  while 
swords  and  spears  innumerable  were  shattered 
and  broken  in  foolish  efforts  to  kill  it. 

Then  the  minister  commanded  a  great  fire  to 
be  built ;  and  the  monster  was  bound  within  the 
fire,  while  quantities  of  pitch  and  of  oil  and  of  resin 
ous  woods  were  poured  and  piled  upon  the  flame, 
until  the  fire  became  too  hot  for  men  to  approach 
it  within  the  distance  of  ten  li.  But  the  beast, 
instead  of  burning,  first  became  red  hot  and  then 
white  hot,  shining  like  the  moon.  Its  chains 
melted  like  wax,  so  that  it  escaped  at  last  and 
ran  out  among  the  people  like  a  dragon  of  fire. 
Many  were  thus  consumed  ;  and  the  beast  entered 
the  villages  and  destroyed  them  ;  and  still  run 
ning  so  swiftly  that  its  heat  increased  with  its 
course,  it  entered  the  capital  city,  and  ran  through 
it  and  over  it  upon  the  roofs,  burning  up  even  the 
king  in  his  palace. 

Thus,  by  the  folly  of  that  king,  was  the  king 
dom  utterly  wasted  and  destroyed,  so  that  it 
became  a  desert,  inhabited  only  by  lizards  and 
serpents  and  demons.  .  .  . 

NOTE.  —  This  and  the  following  fable  belong  to  the 
curious  collection  translated  by  M.  Stanislas  Julien  from 


108  A  Parable  Buddhistic. 

a  Chinese  encyclopaedia,  and  published  at  Paris  in  1860,  un 
der  the  title,  ' '  Les  Avadanas, "  —  or  "  The  Similitudes, "  — 
a  Sanscrit  term  corresponding  to  the  Chinese  Pi-yu,  and 
justified  by  the  origin  of  the  stories,  translated  by  the  Chi 
nese  themselves,  or  at  least  reconstructed,  from  old  Sanscrit 
texts.  I  have  ventured,  however,  to  accentuate  the  slightly 
Chinese  coloring  of  the  above  grotesque  parable.  —  L.  H. 


A  PARABLE  BUDDHISTIC. 

. . .  Like  to  earthen  vessels  wrought  in  a  potter's  mill,  so  are  the 
lives  of  men ;  howsoever  carefully  formed,  all  are  doomed  to  de 
struction.  Nought  that  exists  shall  endure  ;  life  is  as  the  waters 
of  a  river  that  flow  away,  but  never  return.  Therefore  may  hap 
piness  only  be  obtained  by  concealing  the  Six  Appetites,  as  the 
tortoise  withdraws  its  six  extremities  into  its  shell ;  by  guarding 
the  thoughts  from  desire  and  from  grief,  even  as  the  city  is 
guarded  by  its  ditches  and  its  walls.  .  .  . 

So  spoke  in  gathas  Sakya-Mouni.  And  this 
parable,  doubtless  by  him  narrated  of  old,  and 
translated  from  a  lost  Indian  manuscript  into  the 
Chinese  tongue,  may  be  found  in  the  fifty-first 
book  of  the  "  Fa-youen-tchou-lin." 

...  A  father  and  his  son  were  laboring  to 
gether  in  the  field  during  the  season  of  serpents, 
and  a  hooded  serpent  bit  the  young  man,  so  that 


A  Parable  Buddhistic.  109 

be  presently  died.  For  there  is  no  remedy  known 
to  man  which  may  annul  the  venom  of  the  hooded 
snake,  filling  the  eyes  with  sudden  darkness  and 
stilling  the  motion  of  the  heart.  But  the  father, 
seeing  his  son  tying  dead,  and  the  ants  commenc 
ing  to  gather,  returned  to  his  work  and  ceased 
not  placidly  to  labor  as  before. 

Then  a  Brahman  passing  that  wa}T,  seeing  what 
had  happened,  wondered  that  the  father  continued 
to  toil,  and  yet  more  at  observing  that  his  eyes 
were  tearless.  Therefore  he  questioned  him, 
asking:  "Whose  son  was  that  youth  who  is 
dead?" 

"  He  was  mine  own  son,"  returned  the  laborer, 
ceasing  not  to  labor. 

"  Yet,  being  thy  son,  how  do  I  find  thee  tearless 
and  impassive?  " 

"  Folly  !  "  answered  the  laborer  ;  —  "  even  the 
instant  that  a  man  is  born  into  the  world,  so 
soon  doth  he  make  his  first  step  in  the  direction 
of  death ;  and  the  ripeness  of  his  strength  is  also 
the  beginning  of  its  decline.  For  the  well-doing 
there  is  indeed  a  recompense ;  for  the  wicked 
there  is  likewise  punishment.  What  avail,  there 
fore,  tears  and  grief  ?  in  no  wise  can  they  serve 
the  dead.  .  .  .  Perchance,  good  Brahman,  thou  art 
on  thy  way  to  the  city.  If  so,  I  pray  thee  to  pass 


110  A  Parable  Buddhistic. 

by  my  house,  and  to  tell  my  wife  that  my  son  is 
dead,  so  that  she  may  send  hither  my  noonday 
repast." 

"Ah!  what  manner  of  man  is  this?"  thought 
the  Brahman  to  himself.  '"  His  son  is  dead,  yet 
he  does  not  weep  ;  the  corpse  lies  under  the  sun, 
yet  he  ceases  not  to  labor  ;  the  ants  gather  about 
it,  yet  he  coldly  demands  his  noonday  meal ! 
Surely  there  is  no  compassion,  no  human  feeling, 
within  his  entrails  !  "  These  things  the  Brahman 
thought  to  himself;  yet,  being  stirred  by  curi- 
osit}^,  he  proceeded  none  the  less  to  the  house  of 
the  laborer,  and  beholding  the  mother  said  unto 
her:  "Woman,  thy  son  is  dead,  having  been 
stricken  by  a  hooded  snake  ;  and  thy  tearless  hus 
band  bade  me  tell  thee  to  send  him  his  noonday 
repast.  .  .  .  And  now  I  perceive  thou  art  also 
insensible  to  the  death  of  thy  son,  for  thou  dost 
not  weep ! " 

But  the  mother  of  the  dead  answered  him  with 
comparisons,  saying:  "  Sir,  that  son  had  indeed 
received  only  a  passing  life  from  his  parents ; 
therefore  I  called  him  not  my  son.  Now  he  hath 
passed  away  from  me,  nor  was  it  in  my  feeble 
power  to  retain  him.  He  was  only  as  a  traveller 
halting  at  a  tavern  ;  the  traveller  rests  and  passes 
on;  shah1  the  tavern-keeper  restrain  him?  Such 


A  Parable  Buddhistic.  Ill 

is  indeed  the  relation  of  mother  and  son.  Whether 
the  son  go  or  come,  whether  he  remain  or  pass  on, 
I  have  no  power  over  his  being ;  my  son  has  ful 
filled  the  destiny  appointed,  and  from  that  destiny 
none  could  save  him.  '  Why,  therefore,  lament 
that  which  is  inevitable  ?  " 

And  wondering  still  more,  the  Brahman  turned 
unto  the  eldest  sister  of  the  dead  youth,  a  maiden 
in  the  lotos  bloom  of  her  maidenhood,  and  asked 
her,  saying :  "  Thy  brother  is  dead,  and  wilt  thou 
not  weep  ?  " 

But  the  maiden  also  answered  him  with  com 
parisons,  saying:  "Sometimes  a  strong  wood 
man  enters  the  forest  of  trees,  and  hews  them 
down  with  mighty  axe-strokes,  and  binds  them 
together  into  a  great  raft,  and  launches  the  raft 
into  the  vast  river.  But  a  furious  wind  arises  and 
excites  the  waves  to  dash  the  raft  hither  and 
thither,  so  that  it  breaks  asunder,  and  the  cur 
rents  separate  the  foremost  logs  from  those  be 
hind,  and  all  are  whirled  away  never  again  to  be 
united.  Even  such  has  been  the  fate  of  my  young 
brother.  We  were  bound  together  by  destiny  in 
the  one  family ;  we  have  been  separated  forever. 
There  is  no  fixed  time  of  life  or  death ;  whether 
our  existence  be  long  or  short,  we  are  united  only 
for  a  period,  to  be  separated  forever  more.  My 


112  A  Parable  Buddhistic. 

brother  has  ended  his  allotted  career;  each  of  us 
is  following  a  destiny  that  may  not  be  changed. 
To  me  it  was  not  given  to  protect  and  to  save 
him.  Wherefore  should  I  weep  for  that  which 
could  not  be  prevented  ?  " 

Then  wondering  still  more,  the  Brahman  ad 
dressed  himself  to  the  beautiful  wife  of  the  dead 
youth,  saj-ing:  "  And  thou,  on  whose  bosom  he 
slept,  dost  thou  not  weep  for  him,  thy  comely 
husband,  cut  off  in  the  summer  of  his  man 
hood?" 

But  she  answered  him  also  with  comparisons, 
sa^ying :  "  Even  as  two  birds,  nVing  one  from  the 
east  and  one  from  the  south,  meet  and  look  into 
each  other's  eyes,  and  circle  about  each  other, 
and  seek  the  same  summit  of  tree  or  temple,  and 
sleep  together  until  the  dawn,  so  was  our  own 
fate.  When,  the  golden  light  breaks  in  the  east, 
the  two  birds,  leaving  their  temple  perch  or  their 
tree,  fly  in  opposite  ways  each  to  seek  its  food. 
They  meet  again  if  destiny  wills  ;  if  not,  they 
never  behold  each  other  more.  Such  was  the 
fate  of  my  husband  and  myself ;  when  death 
sought  him  his  destiny  was  accomplished,  and  it 
was  not  in  my  power  to  save  him.  Therefore, 
why  should  I  weep  ?  " 

Then  wondering  more  than  ever,  the  Brahman 


Pundari.  113 

questioned  the  slave  of  the  dead  man,  asking 
him:  "  Thy  master  is  dead  ;  why  dost  thou  not 
weep  ?  " 

But  the  slave  also  answered  him  with  com 
parisons,  saying :  "  My  master  and  I  were  united 
by  the  will  of  destiny  ;  I  was  only  as  the  little  calf 
which  follows  the  great  bull.  The  great  bull  is 
slain  :  the  little  calf  could  not  save  him  from  the 
axe  of  the  butcher ;  its  cries  and  bleatings  could 
avail  nothing.  Wherefore  should  I  weep,  not 
knowing  how  soon  indeed  my  own  hour  may 
come  ?  " 

And  the  Brahman,  silent  with  wonder,  watched 
the  slender  figures  of  the  women  moving  swiftly 
to  and  fro  athwart  the  glow  of  golden  light  from 
without,  preparing  the  noonday  repast  for  the 
tearless  laborer  in  the  field. 


PUNDARI. 

A  story  of  the  Buddha,  who  filled  with  light  the  world,  the  soles 
of  whose  feet  were  like  unto  the  faces  of  two  blazing  suns,  for  that 
he  trod  in  the  Perfect  Paths. 

...  IN  those  days  Buddha  was  residing  upon 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  Gridhrakuta,  over- 


114  Pundari. 

looking  that  ancient  and  vanished  city  called 
Rajagriha,  —  then  a  glorious  vision  of  white 
streets  and  fretted  arcades,  and  milky  palaces 
so  mightily  carven  that  they  seemed  light  as 
woofs  of  Cashmere,  delicate  as  frost !  There 
was  the  cry  of  elephants  heard ;  there  the  air 
quivered  with  amorous  music ;  there  the  flowers 
of  a  thousand  gardens  exhaled  incense  to  heaven, 
and  there  women  sweeter  than  the  flowers  moved 
their  braceleted  ankles  to  the  notes  of  harps  and 
flutes.  .  .  .  But,  above  all,  the  summit  of  the  moun 
tain  glowed  with  a  glory  greater  than  day,  —  with 
a  vast  and  rosy  light  signalling  the  presence  of 
the  Buddha. 

Now  in  that  city  dwelt  a  bayadere,  most  lovely 
among  women,  with  whom  in  grace  no  other  be 
ing  could  compare ;  and  she  had  become  weary 
of  the  dance  and  the  jewels  and  the  flowers, — 
weary  of  her  corselets  of  crimson  and  golden  silk, 
and  her  robes  light  as  air,  diaphanous  as  mist, 
—  weary,  also,  of  the  princes  who  rode  to  her 
dwelling  upon  elephants,  bearing  her  gifts  of  jew 
els  and  perfumes  and  vessels  sti-angely  wrought 
in  countries  distant  ten  years'  journe}'.  And  her 
heart  whispered  her  to  seek  out  Buddha,  that  she 
might  obtain  knowledge  and  rest,  becoming  even 
as  a  Bikshuni. 


Pundari.  115 

Therefore,  bidding  farewell  to  the  beautiful  city, 
she  began  to  ascend  the  hilly  paths  to  where  the 
great  and  rosy  glory  beamed  above.  Fierce  was 
the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  rough  the  dizzy  paths  ;  and 
the  thirst  and  weariness  of  deserts  came  upon  her. 
So  that,  having  but  half  ascended  the  mountain, 
she  paused  to  drink  and  rest  at  a  spring  clear  and 
bright  like  diamond,  that  had  wrought  a  wondrous 
basin  for  itself  in  the  heart  of  the  rock. 

But  as  the  bayadere  bent  above  the  fountain  to 
drink,  she  beheld  in  its  silver-bright  mirror  the 
black  glory  of  her  hair,  and  the  lotos  softness  of 
her  silky-shadowed  eyes,  and  the  rose-budding 
of  her  honey-sweet  mouth,  and  her  complexion 
golden  as  sunlight,  and  the  polished  suppleness 
of  her  waist,  and  her  slender  limbs  rounder  than 
an  elephant's  trunk,  and  the  gold-engirdled  grace 
of  her  ankles.  And  a  mist  of  tears  gathered 
before  her  sight.  "  Shall  I,  indeed,  cast  away 
this  beauty?"  she  murmured.  "Shall  I  mask 
this  loveliness,  that  hath  allured  rajahs  and  maha- 
rajahs,  beneath  the  coarse  garb  of  a  recluse? 
Shall  I  behold  my  youth  and  grace  fade  awa}-  in 
solitude  as  dreams  of  the  past?  Wherefore,  then, 
should  I  have  been  born  so  beautiful  ?  Na}r !  let 
those  without  grace  and  without  youth  abandon 
all  to  seek  the  Five  Paths ! "  And  she  turned 


116  Pundari. 

her  face  again  toward  the  white-glimmering  Ra- 
jagriha,  whence  ascended  the  breath  of  flowers, 
and  the  liquid  melody  of  flutes,  and  the  wanton 
laughter  of  dancing  girls.  .  .  . 

But  far  above,  in  the  rosiness,  omniscient  Bud 
dha  looked  into  her  heart,  and,  pitying  her  weak 
ness,  changed  himself  by  utterance  of  the  Word 
into  a  girl  far  comelier  and  yet  more  lissome  than 
even  Pundari  the  bayadere.  So  that  Pundari, 
descending,  suddenly  and  in  much  astonishment 
became  aware  of  the  loveliest  of  companions  at 
her  side,  and  asked  :  "  O  thou  fairest  one !  whence 
comest  thou?  Who  may  the  kindred  be  of  one 
so  lovely?" 

And  the  sweet  stranger  answered,  in  tones 
softer  than  of  flutes  of  gold:  "I  also,  lovely 
one,  am  returning  to  the  white  city  Rajagriha; 
let  us  journey  together,  that  we  may  comfort  each 
other  b}T  the  wajr." 

And  Pundari  answered  :  "  Yea,  O  fairest  maid 
en  !  thy  beauty  draws  me  to  thee  as  the  flower  the 
bee,  and  thy  heart  must  surely  be  precious  as  is 
thy  incom  parable  face  ! " 

So  they  journeyed  on ;  but  the  lovely  stranger 
became  weary  at  last,  and  Pundari,  sitting  down, 
made  a  pillow  of  her  round  knees  for  the  dainty 
head,  and  kissed  her  comrade  to  sleep,  and  stroked 


Pundari.  117 

the  silk}7  magnificence  of  her  hair,  and  fondled  the 
ripe  beauty  of  the  golden  face  slumbering,  and  a 
great  love  for  the  stranger  swelled  ripening  in  her 
heart. 

Yet  while  she  gazed  the  face  upon  her  smooth 
knees  changed,  even  as  a  golden  fruit  withers  and 
wrinkles,  so  wizened  became  the  curved  cheeks : 
strange  hollows  darkened  and  deepened  about  the 
eyes ;  the  silky  lashes  vanished  with  their  shad 
ows  ;  the  splendid  hair  whitened  like  the  ashes  of 
altar  fires  ;  shrunken  and  shrivelled  grew  the  lips  ; 
toothless  yawned  the  once  rosy  mouth ;  and  the 
bones  of  the  face,  made  salient,  fore-shaped  the 
gibbering  outlines  of  a  skull.  The  perfume  of 
youth  was  gone ;  but  there  arose  odors  insuffer 
able  of  death,  and  with  them  came  the  ghastly 
creeping  things  that  death  fattens,  and  the  livid 
colors  and  blotches  that  his  shadowy  fingers  leave. 
And  Pundari,  shrieking,  fled  to  the  presence  of 
Buddha,  and  related  unto  him  the  things  which 
she  had  seen. 

And  the  World-honored  comforted  her,  and 
spake  :  — 

"  O  Pundari,  life  is  but  as  the  fruit ;  loveliness 
but  as  the  flower !  Of  what  use  is  the  fairest 
body  that  lieth  rotting  beside  the  Sowings  of  the 
Ganges?  Old  age  and  death  none  of  us  may 


118  Pundari. 

escape ;  jet  there  are  worse  than  these,  —  the 
new  births  which  are  to  this  life  as  the  echo  to 
the  voice  in  the  cavern,  as  the  great  footprints 
to  the  steps  of  the  elephant. 

"  From  desire  cometh  woe  ;  by  desire  is  begot 
ten  all  evil.  The  body  itself  is  a  creation  of  the 
mind  only ,  of  the  foolish  thirst  of  the  heart  for 
pleasure.  As  the  shadows  of  dreams  are  dissi 
pated  with  the  awakening  of  the  sleeper,  even 
so  shall  sorrow  vanish  and  evil  pass  away  from 
the  heart  of  whosoever  shall  learn  to  conquer  de 
sire  and  quench  the  heart's  thirst ;  even  so  shall 
the  body  itself  vanish  for  those  who  tread  well  in 
the  Five  Paths. 

"O  Pundari,  there  is  no  burning  greater  than 
desire;  no  joy  like  unto  the  destruction  of  the 
body !  Even  as  the  white  stork  standing  alone 
beside  the  dried-up  lily-pool,  so  shall  those  be 
whose  youth  passes  from  them  in  the  fierce  heat 
of  foolish  passion  ;  and  when  the  great  change 
shall  come,  they  will  surely  be  born  again  unto 
foolishness  and  tears. 

' '  Those  only  who  have  found  delight  in  the 
wilderness  where  others  behold  horror ;  those 
who  have  extinguished  all  longings ;  those  self- 
made  passionless  by  meditation  on  life  and  death, 
—  only  such  do  attain  to  happiness,  and,  prevent- 


Yamaraja.  119 

ing  the  second  birth,  enter  into  the  blessedness 
of  Nirvana.".  .  . 

And  the  bayadere,  cutting  off  her  hair,  and 
casting  from  her  all  gifts  of  trinkets  and  jewels, 
abandoned  everything  to  enter  the  Five  Paths. 
And  the  Devas,  rejoicing, .  made  radiant  the 
mountains  above  the  white  city,  and  filled  the 
air  with  a  rain  of  strange  flowers.  And  whoso 
ever  would  know  more  of  Buddha,  let  him  read 
the  marvellous  book  "  Fah-Kheu-King," —  the 
Book  "  Dhammapada." 


YAMARAJA. 

The  Legend  Maggavago ;  or,  "  The  Way,"  —  which  is  in  the 
marvellous  book  of  the  DHAMMAPADA.  . . .  A  story  of  the  Buddha 
at  whose  birth  the  stars  stopped  in  their  courses.  ... 

THE  Brahman's  son  was  dead,  —  dead  in  the 
blossoming  of  his  beautiful  youth,  as  the  rose  in. 
whose  heart  a  worm  is  born,  as  the  lotos  bud 
when  the  waters  of  the  pool  are  cut  off.  For 
comeliness  there  was  none  like  him,  even  among 
the  children  of  the  holiest  caste  ;  nor  were  there 
any  so  deeply  learned  in  the  books  of  religion,  in 
just  reasoning  regarding  the  Scriptures,  in  the 


120  Yamaraja. 

recitation  of  the  slokas  of  singers  divinely  in 
spired.  Thrice  the  aged  priest  fainted  away 
upon  the  body  of  his  son ;  and  as  often  as  they 
would  have  led  him  to  his  home,  he  shrieked  and 
fainted  again,  so  that,  at  last,  even  while  he  lay 
as  dead,  they  took  the  body  from  his  arms,  and, 
having  washed  it  with  the  waters  of  purification, 
wrapped  it  in  perfumed  linen,  and  laid  it  upon 
a  bier  decked  with  Indian  flowers,  and  bore  it 
away  to  the  place  of  interment.  Thus,  when  the 
unhappy  father  came  to  himself,  all  was  accom 
plished  ;  and  the  stern  elders  of  his  caste,  gathering 
about  him,  so  harshly  reproved  him  for  his  grief 
that  he  was  perforce  compelled  to  reason  with 
himself  regarding  the  vanity  of  lamentation  and 

the  folly  of  human  tears. 

* 
*  * 

But  not  ceasing  to  meditate  upon  his  great  loss, 
a  wild  hope  at  last  shaped  itself  within  his  heart. 
"  Lo  !  "  he  thought,  "  I  have  heard  it  said  that  cer 
tain  mighty  Bi'ahmans,  having  acquired  the  Five 
Virtues,  the  Five  Faculties,  the  Ten  Forces,  were 
enabled  to  converse  face  to  face  with  Yamaraja, 
the  Lord  of  Death !  To  me  it  hath  not  indeed 
beenflipn,  by  reason  perchance  of  my  feeble 
AvHU'lo  obtain  the  supreme  wisdom;  yet  my  love 
and  faith  are  of  the  heart,  and  I  will  seek  out 


Yamaraja.  121 

Yamaraja,  King  of  Death,  and  pray  him  to  give 
me  back  my  son."  Therefore  the  Brahman,  in 
vesting  himself  with  sacerdotal  vestments,  per 
formed  the  holy  ceremonies  ordained  in  the  law ; 
and  having  offered  the  sacrifice  of  flowers  and  of 
incense,  he  departed  to  seek  the  Lord  of  Death, 
the  Maharajah  of  vanished  kingdoms,  Yama. 
And  he  questioned  all  whom  he  met  as  to  where 

Yama  might  be  found. 

* 
*  * 

Some,  opening  astounded  ej'es,  answered  him 
not  at  all,  deeming  him  to  be  mad ;  some  there 
were  that  mocked  him  ;  some  counselled  that  he 
should  return  home,  lest  he  find  Yama  too  speed 
ily  !  Kshatrya  princes  with  jewel-hilted  sabres 
answered  him  as  they  rode  by  in  glittering  steel 
and  glimmering  gold:  "Yama  may  be  found  in 
the  tempest  of  battles,  beneath  the  bursting  of 
arrow-clouds,  amidst  the  lightning  of  swords,  be 
fore  the  armored  ranks  of  the  fighting  elephants." 
Swarthy  mariners  replied,  with  rough  laughter  as 
of  sea  winds:  "Thou  mayst  seek  Yama  in  the 
roaring  of  waters  and  raving  of  typhoons  ;  let  the 
spirit  of  storms  answer  thee  !  "  .  .  .  And  danc 
ing  girls,  singing  the  burning  hymn  of  Ourvasi, 
paused  to  answer  with  their  witchery:  "Seek 
Yama  rather  in  our  arms,  upon  our  lips,  upon 


122  Yamaraja. 

our  hearts ;  exhale  thy  soul  in  a  kiss."  .  .  . 
And  they  laughed  shrilly  as  the  bells  of  the 
temple  eaves  laugh  when  the  wind  lips  their 

silver  tongues. 

* 
*  * 

So  he  wandered  on,  by  the  banks  of  many 
rivers,  under  the  shadowing  of  man}'  cit}-  walls, 
still  seeking,  until  he  came  to  the  great  wilderness 
below  the  mountains  of  the  east,  where  dwelt  the 
most  hoi}7,  who  had  obtained  supreme  wisdom. 
Serpents  hooded  like  mendicants  protruded  their 
forked  tongues  ;  the  leopard  thrust  aside  the  jun 
gle  grasses  to  gaze  at  him  with  eyes  of  green 
flame ;  the  boa  moved  before  him,  making  a 
waving  in  the  deep  weeds  as  the  wake  of  a  boat 
upon  water.  But  inasmuch  as  he  sought  Yama, 
he  could  not  fear. 

Thus  he  came  at  last  to  where  the  most  holy  of 
Brahmans  dwelt,  who  had  obtained  supreme  wis 
dom,  nourishing  themselves  upon  the  perfumes 
of  flowers  only.  The  shadow  of  the  rocks,  the 
shadows  of  the  primeval  trees,  lengthened  and 
shortened  and  circled  with  the  circling  of  the 
sun  ;  but  the  shadows  of  the  trees  beneath  which 
they  sat  circled  not,  nor  did  they  change  with 
the  changing  of  the  universal  light.  The  eyes 
of  the  hermits  gazed  unwinking  upon  the  face 


Yamaraja.  123 

of  the  sun ;  the  birds  of  heaven  nestled  in  the 
immobility  of  their  vast  beards.  All  trem 
blingly  he  asked  of  them  where  Yamaraja  might 

be  found. 

* 
*  * 

Long  he  awaited  in  silence  their  answer, 
hearing  only  the  waters  chanting  their  eternal 
slokas,  the  trees  whispering  with  all  their  flicker 
ing  leaf-tongues,  the  humming  of  innumerable 
golden  flies,  the  heavy  movement  of  great  beasts 
in  the  jungle.  At  last  the  Brahmans  moved  their 
lips,  and  answered,  "  Wherefore  seekest  thou 
Yama?"  And  at  their  utterance  the  voices  of 
the  waters  and  the  woods  were  hushed ;  the 
golden  flies  ceased  the  music  of  their  wings. 

Then  answered  the  pilgrim,  tremblingty  :  "  Lo  ! 
I  also  am  a  Brahman,  ye  holy  ones  ;  but  to  me  it 
hath  not  been  given  to  obtain  the  supreme  wis 
dom,  seeing  that  I  am  unworthy  to  know  the 
Absolute.  Yet  I  sought  diligently  for  the  space 
of  sixty  years  to  obtain  holiness ;  and  our  law 
teaches  that  if  one  have  not  reached  wisdom  at, 
sixty,  it  is  his  duty,  returning  home,  to  take  a 
wife,  that  he  may  have  holy  children.  This  I  did  ; 
and  one  son  was  born  unto  me,  beautiful  as  the 
Vassika  flower,  learned  even  in  his  childhood. 
And  I  did  all  I  could  to  instil  into  him  the  love 


124  Yamaraja. 

of  uttermost  wisdom,  teaching  him  myself  until 
it  came  to  pass  that  he  knew  more  than  I,  where 
fore  I  sought  him  teachers  from  Elephanta.  And 
in  the  beauty  of  his  youth  he  was  taken  from  me, 
—  borne  away  with  the  silk  of  manhood  already 
shadowing  his  lip.  Wherefore  I  pray  3-6,  holy 
men,  tell  me  in  what  place  Yamaraja  dwells,  that 
I  may  pray  him  to  give  me  back  my  boy !  " 

* 
*  * 

Then  all  the  holy  voices  answered  together  as 
one  voice,  as  the  tone  of  many  waters  flowing  in 
one  cadence:  "Verily  thou  hast  not  been  fitted 
to  seek  the  supreme  wisdom,  seeing  that  in  the 
winter  of  thine  age  thou  dost  still  mourn  by 
reason  of  a  delusion.  For  the  stars  die  in  their 
courses,  the  heavens  wither  as  leaves,  the  worlds 
vanish  as  the  smoke  of  incense.  Lives  are  as 
flower-petals  opening  to  fade ;  the  works  of 
man  as  verses  written  upon  water.  He  who 
hath  reached  supreme  wisdom  mourneth  exist 
ence  only.  .  .  .  Yet,  that  thou  mayst  be  enlight 
ened,  we  will  even  advise  thee.  The  kingdom 
of  Yama  thou  mayst  not  visit,  for  no  man  ma}" 
tread  the  way  with  mortal  feet.  But  many  hun 
dred  leagues  toward  the  setting  of  the  sun,  there 
is  a  valley,  with  a  city  shining  in  the  midst 
thereof.  There  no  man  dwells,  but  the  gods 


Yamaraja.  125 

only,  when  they  incarnate  themselves  to  live  upon 
earth.  And  upon  the  eighth  day  of  each  month 
Yamaraja  visits  them,  and  thou  ma}-st  see  him. 
Yet  beware  of  failing  a  moment  to  practise  the 
ceremonies,  to  recite  the  Mantras,  lest  a  strange 
evil  befall  thee  !  .  .  .  Depart  now  from  us,  that  we 

may  re-enter  into  contemplation ! " 

* 
*  * 

So,  after  journeying  many  moons,  the  good 
Brahman  stood  at  last  upon  the  height  above  the 
valley,  and  saw  the  ivory-white  cit}T,  —  a  vision 
of  light,  like  the  heaven  Trayastrinshas.  Not 
Hanoumat,  the  messenger  of  Rama,  beheld  such 
splendor,  when  he  haunted  the  courts  of  Lanka 
by  night,  and  beheld  in  Havana's  palace  the  love 
liest  of  women  interlaced  in  the  embrace  of  sleep, 
"  the  garland  of  women's  bodies  interwoven.'1 
Terraces  fretted  by  magical  chisels  rose  heaven 
ward,  tier  upon  tier,  until  their  summit  seemed 
but  the  fleecincss  of  summer  clouds  ;  arches  tow 
ered  upon  arches  ;  pink  marble  gates  yawned  like 
the  mouths  of  slumbering  bayaderes  ;  crenellated 
walls  edged  with  embroidery  of  inlaid  gold  sur 
rounded  gardens  deep  as  forests  ;  domes  white- 
rounded,  like  breasts,  made  pearly  curves  against 
the  blue  ;  fountains,  silver-nippled,  showered  per 
fumed  spray ;  and  above  the  great  gate  of  the 


126  Yamaraja. 

palace  of  the  gods,  where  Devas  folded  their 
wings  on  guard,  flamed  a  vast  carbuncle,  upon 
whose  face  was  graven  the  Word  comprehended 
only  by  those  who  have  attained  supreme  wisdom. 
And  standing  before  the  gate,  the  Brahman  burnt 
the  holy  incense  and  recited  the  holy  Mantras,  .  .  . 
until  the  Devas,  pitying  him,  rolled  back  the  doors 
of  gold,  and  bade  him  enter. 

*  * 

Loft3r  as  heaven  seemed  that  palace  hall,  whose 
vault  of  cerulean  blue  bung,  self-sustained,  above 
the  assembly  of  the  gods  ;  and  the  pavement  of 
sable  marble  glimmered  like  a  fathomless  lake. 
Yet,  as  the  Brahman  prostrated  himself,  not  daring 
to  lift  his  eyes,  he  felt  that  it  quavered  under  the 
tread  of  mortal  feet  even  as  when  earth  trembles. 
In  its  reflection  he  beheld  the  gods  seated  in  as 
sembly,  not  awful  of  image  as  in  earthly  temples, 
but  as  beings  of  light,  star-diademed,  rosy  with 
immortalit}'.  .  .  .  Only  Yarnaraja's  brow  bore  no 
starry  flame  ;  and  there  was  in  his  gaze  a  pro- 
funditj'-  as  of  deep  answering  unto  deep.  To  the 
ears  of  the  worshipper  his  voice  came  like  the 
voice  of  waters  pouring  over  the  verge  of  an  echo- 
less  ab3rss,  .  .  .  and  in  obedience  to  that  voice  the 
Brahman  uttered  his  prayer. 

And  the  Lord  of  Death,  replying  in  strange 


Yamaraja.  127 

tones,  said:  "Pious  and  just  is  this  praj'er,  O 
child  of  Brahma !  Thy  son  is  now  in  the  Garden 
of  the  East.  Take  him  by  the  hand  and  go  thy 
way.".  .  . 

*  # 

Joyfulty  the  Brahman  entered  that  garden  of 
fountains  that  flow  forever ;  of  fruits,  eternally 
ripe,  that  never  fall ;  of  flowers  immortal,  that 
never  fade.  And  he  discerned,  among  children 
innumerable  disporting,  his  own  beloved  son  play 
ing  beside  the  fountains  ;  so  that  he  cried  out  with 
a  great  cry,  and  ran  to  him  and  clasped  him  and 
wept  over  him,  exclaiming  :  "  O  sweet  son  !  O  my 
beloved  first-born !  dost  thou  not  know  me,  thy 
father  who  mourned  thee  so  long,  —  who  hath  even 
entered  the  presence  of  Yamaraja,  the  Lord  of 
Death,  to  seek  thee?".  .  . 

But  like  a  mist  the  child  passed  from  his 
embrace,  and  answered,  with  a  wonder  in  his 
eyes:  "I know  thee  not!".  .  . 

Then,  kneeling  in  tears  before  the  boy,  the 
Brahman  cried:  "O  sweetest  son,  hast  thou  in 
deed  forgotten  the  father  who  loved  thee  more 
than  his  own  life,  —  who  taught  thy  infant  lips  to 
utter  the  holy  prayers,  — who  den^d  thee  no  wish 
of  th}T  heart,  bringing  thee  up  as  the  son  of  a 
rajah,  teaching  thee  all  the  wisdom  of  the  Brail- 


128  Yamaraja. 

mans  ?  Hast  thou  forgotten  thy  mother,  also,  who 
weeps  for  thee  now  all  alone,  seeing  that  I  have 
journeyed  so  long  to  find  thee  ?  Naj- !  look  at  me 
with  thy  eyes  !  look  at  me  again,  that  thou  mayst 
know  me  !  Or  is  it  because  mj"  grief  hath  so 
changed  me  that  I  am  no  longer  the  same  in  thy 
sight?"  .  .  . 

But  the  child  ever  replied  :  "  I  know  thee  not !  " 
Then,  casting  himself  upon  the  ground,  the  Brah 
man  wept  as  one  smitten  by  infinite  despair,  and  so 
sobbed,  until  the  child,  touching  him,  spoke  again  : 
"  I  know  thee  not !  Thou  art  to  me  a  stranger  ! 
I  know,  indeed,  that  thou  art  foolish,  —  uttering 
the  terms  father  and  mother,  signifying  condi 
tions  that  pass  awa}*  like  the  grass  of  the  earth. 
I  perceive,  also,  that  thou  art  sorrowful,  and 
therefore  a  victim  of  delusion  ;  for  sorrow  spring- 
eth  from  ignorance  and  desire,  as  the  fungus  from 
corruption.  Here  we  know  not  desire,  we  know 
not  sorrow,  neither  do  we  harbor  illusion.  Thou 
art  no  more  to  me  than  the  wind  to  the  moon, 
than  the  flame  blown  out  is  to  the  object  once 
illuminated.  Get  thee  from  hence,  therefore,  as 
it  will  profit  thee  nothing  to  bring  thy  sorrow  and 
thy  foil}*  into  this  place.".  .  . 

So  the  Brahman  departed,  speechless  for  grief. 


Yamaraja.  129 

Only  then  did  he  seek  the  Buddha,  the  Shah- 
man  Gotama,  that  he  might  obtain  advice  and 
consolation.  And  the  Buddha,  pitj'ing  him,  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  gave  him  rest,  say 
ing:— 

"  O  Brahman,  thou  hast  only  been  punished  for 
thy  self-delusion  and  folly.  • 

"  Know  that  the  spirit  of  the  dead  receiveth  a 
new  bodily  form  after  its  departure,  so  that  for 
mer  relationship  utterly  ceaseth,  even  as  one  visit 
ing  a  tavern  by  the  wa}rside  is  no  longer  a  guest, 
having  departed  therefrom. 

' '  Much  thou  art  to  be  pitied  for  thy  weakness 
and  this  delusion  of  thy  love,  nor  canst  thou  find 
consolation  but  in  supreme  wisdom  only. 

"  Vainly  do  men  concern  themselves  regarding 
wife  and  child ;  for  the  end  cometh  to  all  as  a 
roaring  torrent,  sweeping  awa}^  whatsoever  earthly 
affection  clings  to. 

' '  Then  neither  father  nor  mother  can  save ; 
then  neither  love  nor  strength  may  succor ;  par 
ent  and  kinsman  become  as  blind  men  set  to 
guard  a  burning  lamp. 

' '  Therefore  the  truly  wise  considereth  not  such 
things,  seeking  onby  to  save  the  world,  to  en 
lighten   men,   to   destroy   sorrow  by  destaging 
desire,  to  redeem  himself. 
9 


130  Yamaraja. 

"  Even  as  the  wind  driveth  away  clouds, 
so  should  the  wise  seek  to  banish  thought,  to 
banish  worldly  consciousness,  and  thus  escape 
forever  the  future  birth  and  death,  attaining  the 
eightfold  Wisdom,  —  finding  at  last  the  eternal 
peace,  the  eternal  rest. 

' '  Whatsoever  is  high  shall  be  brought  low ; 
wheresoever  is  agreement  will  surely  come  divis 
ion  ;  where  there  is  birth  there  shall  surely  be 
death  also. 

"  Therefore  cast  off,  O  Brahman,  all  passion, 
all  affection,  all  regret,  as  the  Vassika  plant  sheds 
its  withered  flowers ;  therefore  flee  the  ignorant, 
and  seek  in  solitude  the  true  wisdom,  needing  no 
companion,  rejoicing  as  the  elephant  escaped  from 
the  herd.  .  .  ." 

And,  perceiving  the  vanity  of  life,  the  evanes 
cence  of  joy,  the  folly  of  grief,  that  Brahman 
ceased  to  mourn,  and  besought  permission  to 
follow  the  footsteps  of  the  Teacher.  .  .  . 


The  Lotos  of  Faith.  131 


THE  LOTOS  OF  FAITH; 

Or,  "  The  Furnace  of  Fire,"  which  is  in  the  JATAKAS  of 
Buddha.  .  .  .  At  his  birth  the  waters  of  the  Sea  became  fresh, 
and  the  deeps  of  the  Seven  Hells  were  illuminated.  The  blind 
received  their  sight,  that  they  might  behold  the  bliss  of  the  world . 
the  deaf  their  hearing,  that  they  might  know  the  tidings  of  joy; 
by  sevenfold  lotos-flowers  ike  rocks  were  riven  asunder ;  the  light 
of  glory  immeasurable  filled  the  world  systems  of  ten  thousand 


IN  the  years  when  Brahmadatta  reigned  over 
Benares, — the  holy  city,  —  the  city  of  apes  and 
peacocks,  —  the  city  possessing  the  seven  precious 
things,  and  resounding  with  the  ten  cries,  with 
the  trumpeting  of  elephants,  the  neighing  of 
horses,  the  melody  of  instruments  and  voices 
of  singing  girls, — then  the  future  Buddha-elect 
was  born  as  a  son  in  the  family  of  the  royal 
treasurer,  after  having  passed  through  kotis  of 
births  innumerable. 

Now  the  duration  of  one  koti  is  ten  millions  of 
years. 

And  the  Buddha-elect,  the  Bodisat,  was 
brought  up  in  splendid  luxury  as  a  prince  of 
the  holy  city,  and  while  yet  a  boy  mastered  all 
branches  of  human  knowledge,  and  becoming  a 


132  The  Lotos  of  Faith. 

man  succeeded  his  father  as  keeper  of  the  treas 
ury.  But  even  while  exercising  the  duties  of 
his  office,  he  gave  rich  gifts  to  holy  men,  and 
allowed  none  to  excel  him  in  almsgiving. 

At  that  time  there  also  lived  a  holy  Buddha, 
who,  striving  to  fulfil  each  and  all  of  the  Ten 
Perfections,  had  passed  seven  daj-s  and  seven 
nights  without  eating  so  much  as  one  grain  of 
rice.  Arousing  himself  at  last  from  his  holy 
trance,  he  cleansed  and  robed  his  person,  and 
purified  himself,  and  passing  through  the  air  \ty 
virtue  of  his  perfection,  alighted  before  the  door 
of  the  treasurer's  house,  with  his  begging-bowl 
in  his  hand. 

Then  the  Bodisat,  beholding  the  sacred  mendi 
cant  awaiting  in  silence,  bade  a  servant  fetch  to 
him  the  Buddha's  bowl,  that  he  might  fill  it  with 
such  food  as  those  who  seek  supreme  wisdom 
may  permit  themselves  to  eat.  So  the  servant 
proceeded  to  fetch  the  bowl. 

But  even  as  be  advanced,  and  before  he  might 
reach  out  his  hand,  the  ground  rocked  and  heaved 
like  the  sea  beneath  him  ;  and  the  earth  opened 
itself,  and  yawned  to  its  entrails,  making  an  ab3~ss 
between  the  holy  mendicant  and  the  servant  of 
the  Bodisat.  And  the  gulf  became  a  hell  of  seeth 
ing  flame,  like  the  hell  of  Avici,  like  the  heart  of 


The  Lotos  of  Faith.  133 

a  volcano  in  which  even  the  crags  of  granite  melt 
as  wax,  pass  away  as  clouds.  Also  a  great  and 
fantastic  darkness  grew  before  the  sun,  and  black 
ened  all  his  face. 

Wherefore  the  servant  and  his  fellows  fled 
shrieking,  leaving  only  the  Bodisat  standing  upon 
one  verge  of  the  abyss,  and  the  Buddha,  calmly 
waiting,  upon  the  other.  Where  the  feet  of  the 
perfect  mendicant  stood,  the  abyss  widened  not ; 
but  it  widened  swiftly,  devouring  the  ground  be 
fore  the  feet  of  the  Bodisat,  as  though  seeking  to 
engulf  him.  For  Mara,  Lord  of  Rakshasas  and 
of  evil  ones,  desiring  that  the  Buddha  might  die, 
sought  thus  to  prevent  the  almsgiving  of  the  Bo 
disat.  And  the  darkness  before  the  sun  was  the 
darkness  of  Mara's  awful  face. 

And  as  a  muttering  of  mountain  thunder  came 
a  voice,  saying:  "  The  Buddha  shall  not  live  by 
thine  alms-gift ;  his  hour  hath  come.  .  .  .  Mine  is 
the  fire  between  thee  and  him." 

And  the  Bodisat  looked  at  the  Buddha  across 
the  abyss  of  fire ;  and  the  Buddha's  face  changed 
not,  neither  did  he  utter  a  word  to  dissuade  nor 
give  one  sign  to  encourage. 

But  the  Bodisat  cried  aloud,  even  while  the 
abyss,  widening,  grew  vaster  to  devour  him: 
"Mara,  thou  shalt  not  prevail!  To  thee  power 


134  The  Lotos  of  Faith. 

is  not  given  against  duty  !  .  .  .  My  lord  Buddha, 
I  come  to  thee,  fearing  not ;  take  thou  this  food 
from  the  hands  of  thy  servant." 

And  with  the  dish  of  rice  in  his  hands,  the  Bo- 
disat  strode  into  the  roaring  waste  of  fire,  utter 
ing  these  jewel- words  :  '-'•Better  to  enter  willingly 
into  hell  than  neglect  a  duty  or  knowingly  com 
mit  a  wrong  f".  .  . 

Even  then  the  Buddha  smiled  on  the  other 
verge.  And  ere  the  Bodisat  could  fall,  there 
suddenly  arose  from  the  depths  of  the  pit  of 
fire  a  vast  and  beautiful  lotos-flower,  like  unto 
that  from  whose  womb  of  gold  was  Brahma  born  ; 
and  it  received  the  feet  of  the  Bodisat,  and  bore 
him  beyond  the  pit,  upcasting  over  Mm  a  spray 
of  golden  dust,  like  a  shower  of  stars.  So  he 
poured  into  the  Buddha's  bowl  the  holy  gift  of 
alms. 

The  darkness  vanished;  the  abyss  was  not; 
the  Buddha,  rising  in  air,  passed  over  a  bridge 
of  rosy  cloud  to  the  mountain  regions  of  Hima 
laya.  But  the  Bodisat,  still  standing  upon  the 
lotos  of  gold,  long  discoursed  unto  the  people 
concerning  holy  things. 


RUNES  FROM  THE  KALEWALA. 


THE  MAGICAL  WOKDS. 


There  is  in  the  ancient  Finnish  tongue  a  strange  book  written, 
called  KALEWALA,  a  book  of  runes,  treating  about  the  beginning 
of  the  world,  and  about  the  god-smiths  who  first  wrought  the 
foundations  of  the  sky,  and  about  the  witches  and  the  enchanters 
of  the  farthest  North.  Of  witches  Louhi  was  among  the  greatest; 
and  her  daughter  was  wooed  by  gods  and  heroes,  —  even  by  Wai- 
namo'men  the  mightiest.  .  .  .  So  fair  was  the  virgin  that  her  beauty 
gave  light  like  the  moon ;  so  white  were  her  bones  that  their  white 
ness  glimmered  through  the  transparency  of  her  flesh  ;  so  clear 
was  the  ivory  of  her  bones  that  the  marrow  could  be  seen  within 
them.  .  .  .  And  the  story  of  how  Wainamoinen  built  a  boat  that 
he  might  sail  to  woo  the  virgin,  is  thus  told  in  the  runes  of  the 
KALEWALA  :  — 

.  .  .  The  aged  and  valiant  Wainamoinen  re 
solved  to  build  himself  a  boat,  a  swift  war-boat. 
He  hewed  the  trees,  he  hewed  the  trunks  of  the 
pines  and  the  firs,  singing  songs  the  while,  chant 
ing  the  runes  that  banish  evil.  And  as  he  sang 
the  smitten  trees  answered  him,  the  fibres  of  the 


138  The  Magical  Words. 

oak  and  of  the  fir  and  of  the  mountain  pine 
yielded  up  their  secrets  in  sounds  that  to  other 
men  seemed  echoes  only,  but  which  to  Waina- 
moinen's  ears  were  syllables  and  words, — words 
wrung  from  the  wood  by  enchantment. 

Now  only  the  keel  remained  to  be  wrought; 
the  strong  keel  of  the  war-ship  had  yet  to  be 
fashioned.  And  Wainamoinen  smote  down  a 
great  oak,  that  he  might  carve  and  curve  its 
body  as  keels  are  curved  and  carven.  But  the 
dying  oak  uttered  its  words  of  wood,  its  magical 
voice  of  warning,  sa}"ing:  "Never  may  I  serve 
for  the  keel  of  thy  boat,  for  the  bottom  of  thy 
war-ship.  Lo  !  the  worms  have  made  their 
crooked  dwellings  within  my  roots :  yesterday 
the  raven  alighted  upon  my  head ;  bloody  was 
his  back,  bloody  his  crest,  and  blood  lay  clotting 
upon  the  blackness  of  his  neck." 

Therefore  the  ancient  Wainamoinen  left  the 
oak,  and  sought  among  the  mountain  firs  and 
the  mountain  pines  for  flawless  keel-wood ;  and 
he  found  wood  worthy  of  his  war-boat,  and  he 
wrought  the  same  into  shape  by  the  singing  of 
magical  songs. 

For  the  words  of  enchantment  by  which  shapes 
are  shaped  were  known  to  him  ;  by  magical  words 
he  had  wrought  the  hull,  with  magical  words  had 


The  Magical  Words.  139 

formed  the  oars  ;  and  ribs  and  keel  were  by  wiz 
ard  song  interlocked  together.  But  to  perfect* 
the  prow  three  words  must  be  sung,  three  war 
lock  words  ;  and  those  three  words  Wainamoinen 
did  not  know,  and  his  heart  was  troubled  because 
he  did  not  know  them. 

There  was  a  shepherd  dwelling  among  the  hills, 
—  an  ancient  shepherd  who  had  beheld  ten  times 
a  hundred  moons ;  and  him  Wainamoinen  ques 
tioned  concerning  the  three  magical  words. 

But  the  ancient  shepherd  answered  him  dream 
ily :  "  Surely  thou  mayst  find  a  hundred  words, 
a  thousand  syllables  of  magical  song,  upon  the 
heads  of  the  swallows,  upon  the  shoulders  of  the 
wild  geese,  upon  the  necks  of  the  swans  !  " 

Then  the  aged  and  valiant  Wainamoinen  went 
forth  in  search  of  the  magical  words.  He  slew 
the  flying  swallows  by  thousands ;  thousands  of 
white  geese  he  slew ;  thousands  of  snowy  swans 
were  stricken  by  his  arrows.  Yet  he  found  no 
word  written  upon  their  heads,  their  shoulders, 
their  necks,  nor  even  so  much  as  the  beginning 
of  a  word.  Then  he  thought  unto  himself: 
"  Surely  I  may  find  a  hundred  words,  a  thou 
sand  syllables  of  song,  under  the  tongues  of  the 
summer  reindeer,  within  the  ruddy  mouth  of  the 
white  squirreL" 


140  The  Magical  Words. 

And  he  went  his  way  to  seek  the  magical 
words.  He  strewed  the  vast  plains  with  the 
bodies  of  slaughtered  reindeer  ;  he  slew  the 
white  squirrels  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thou 
sands.  But  he  found  no  word  beneath  the 
tongue  of  the  reindeer,  no  magical  word  in  the 
mouth  of  the  white  squirrel,  not  even  so  much  as 

the  beginning  of  ,a  word. 

* 
*  * 

Yet  again  Wainamoinen  thought  to  himself, 
saying:  "Surely  I  may  find  a  hundred  magical 
words,  a  thousand  syllables  of  song,  in  the  dwell 
ing  of  the  Queen  of  Death,  in  the  land  of  Tuonela, 
in  the  underground  plains  of  Manala." 

And  he  took  his  way  unto  the  dwelling-place  of 
Tuonela,  to  the  moonless  land  of  the  dead,  to  the 
underground  plains  of  Manala.  Three  da}'s  he 
journe}'ed  thither  with  steps  lighter  than  air; 
three  dajrs  he  journeyed  as  a  shadow  walking 
upon  shadow. 

And  he  came  at  last  unto  the  banks  of  the 
sacred  river,  the  sable  shore  of  the  black  river, 
over  which  the  spirits  of  the  dead  must  pass  ;  and 
he  cried  out  to  the  children  of  Death :  "  O  daugh 
ters  of  Tuoni,  bring  hither  your  bark !  O  chil 
dren  of  Manala,  bring  hither  your  bark,  that  I 
may  cross  over  the  black  river !  " 


The  Magical  Words.  141 

But  the  daughters  of  Death,  the  children  of 
Hell,  cried  out,  saying:  "The  bark  shall  be 
taken  over  to  thee  only  when  thou  shalt  have 
told  us  how  thou  hast  come  to  Manala,  how  thou 
hast  reached  Tuonela,  —  the  abode  of  Death,  the 
domain  of  ghosts." 

And  Wainamoinen  called  out  to  them  across 
the  waters,  saying:  u  Surely  Tuoni  himself  hath 
conducted  me  hither ;  surely  the  Queen  of  Death 
hath  driven  me  to  Tuonela." 

But  the  daughters  of  Tuonela  waxed  wroth ; 
the  virgins  of  Kalma  were  angry.  And  the}7  an 
swered:  "  We  know  the  artifice  of  men  ;  we  per 
ceive  the  lie  within  thy  mouth.  For  surely  thou 
livest !  no  wound  hath  slain  thee ;  no  woe  hath 
consumed  thee  ;  no  disaster  hath  destroyed  thee  ; 
no  grave  hath  been  dug  for  thee.  Who,  there 
fore,  hath  brought  thee  alive  to  Manala?" 

And  Wainamoinen,  answering,  called  out  to 
them  across  the  waters :  '  Iron  surely  hath 
brought  me  to  the  land  of  death;  steel  surely 
hath  accompanied  me  unto  Manala." 

The  daughters  of  Tuonela  waxed  wroth ;  the 
virgins  of  Kalma  were  angry.  And  they  an 
swered  :  ' '  We  know  all  artifices  of  men ;  we 
perceive  the  lie  within  thy  mouth.  Had  iron 
brought  thee  to  Tuonela,  had  steel  accompanied 


142  The  Magical  Words. 

thee  unto  Manala,  thy  garments  would  drip  with 
blood.  .  .  .  Who  brought  thee  to  Manala?  " 

And  Wainamoinen  called  out  again  to  them 
across  the  waters:  "Fire  hath  brought  me  unto 
Manala  ;  flame  hath  accompanied  me  to  Tuonela." 

The  daughters  of  Tuonela  waxed  wroth ;  the 
virgins  of  Kalma  were  angry.  And  they  cried 
out:  "We  know  all  artifices  of  men;  we  per 
ceive  the  lie  within  thy  mouth.  Had  fire  brought 
thee  to  Manala,  had  flame  accompanied  thee  to 
Tuonela,  thy  garments  would  be  consumed  by  the 
fire,  the  glow  of  the  flame  would  be  upon  thee. 
Who  brought  thee  to  Manala  ?  " 

And  Wainamoinen  yet  again  called  out  to  them 
across  the  black  river,  saying :  ' '  Water  hath 
brought  me  to  Manala ;  water  hath  accompanied 
me  to  Tuonela." 

The  daughters  of  Tuonela  waxed  wroth ;  the 
virgins  of  Kalma  were  angry.  And  they  an 
swered,  saying:  "We  know  all  the  artifices  of 
men  ;  we  perceive  the  lie  within  thy  mouth.  For 
there  is  no  dripping  of  water  from  thy  garments. 
Cease,  therefore,  to  lie  to  us  ;  for  we  know  thou 
livest ;  we  perceive  that  no  wound  hath  slain  thee, 
no  woe  consumed  thee,  no  disaster  hath  crushed 
thy  bones. '  Who  brought  thee  to  Manala?  who 
guided  thee  to  Tuonela  ?  " 


The  Magical  Words.  143 

Then  Wainamoinen  called  out  to  them  across 
the  river :  "  Surely  I  will  now  utter  the  truth.  I 
have  made  me  a  boat  by  my  art ;  I  have  wrought 
me  a  war-boat  by  magical  song.  With  a  song  I 
shaped  the  hull ;  with  a  song  I  formed  the  keel ; 
with  a  song  I  fashioned  the  oars.  Yet  three  words 
are  wanting  to  me,  —  three  magical  words  by  which 
I  may  perfect  the  carven  prow  in  its  place  ;  and  I 
have  come  to  Tuonela  to  find  these  three  words  ; 
I  have  come  to  Manala  to  seek  these  three  words 
of  enchantment.  Bring  hither  your  bark,  O 
children  of  Tuonela!  bring  hither  37our  boat, 
O  virgins  of  Kalma  !  " 

So  the  daughters  of  Death  came  over  the  dark 
river  in  their  black  boat,  and  they  rowed  Waina 
moinen  to  the  further  shore,  to  the  waste  of  wan 
dering  ghosts ;  and  they  gave  him  to  drink  of 
what  the  dead  drink,  and  to  eat  of  what  the  dead 
devour.  And  Wainamoinen  laid  him  down  and 
slept,  being  weary  with  his  mighty  journey. 

He  slept  and  dreamed  ;  but  his  garments  slept 
not,  —  his  enchanted  garments  kept  watch  for 

him. 

* 
*  * 

Now  the  daughter  of  Tuoni,  the  iron-fingered 
daughter  of  Death,  seated  herself  in  the  darkness 
upon  a  great  stone  in  the  midst  of  the  waters ; 


144  The  Magical  Words. 

and  with  iron  fingers  wove  a  net  of  iron  thread, 
one  thousand  ells  in  length. 

The  sons  of  Tuoni,  the  sons  of  the  Queen  of 
Death,  also  seated  themselves  in  the  same  dark 
ness  upon  the  same  great  stone  in  the  midst  of 
the  same  waters,  and  with  their  hooked  fingers, 
with  their  iron  finger-nails,  also  wove  a  net  of 
iron  thread,  a  thousand  ells  in  length. 

And  they  cast  their  net  into  the  river,  across 
the  river,  that  they  might  ensnare  Wainamoinen, 
that  the}'  might  entangle  the  magician,  that  they 
might  prevent  him  from  ever  leaving  the  ab3Tss 
of  Manala,  ever  leaving  the  domain  of  Tuonela,  so 
long  as  the  golden  moon  should  circle  in  heaven, 
even  so  long  as  the  silver  sun  should  light  the 
world  of  men. 

But  the  garments  of  Wainamoinen  kept  watch, 
the  enchanted  garments  of  the  magician  slept  not. 
And  Wainamoinen  uttered  a  magical  word,  and 
changed  himself  into  a  stone  ;  and  the  stone  rolled 
into  the  black  river. 

And  the  stone  became  a  viper  of  iron,  and 
passed  sinuously  through  the  meshes  of  the  nets, 
and  through  the  river  currents,  and  into  the  black 
reeds  upon  the  black  river's  further  bank. 

So  Wainamoinen  passed  from  the  kingdom  of 
Tuoni,  from  the  children  of  Death ;  but  he  had 


The  Magical  Words.  145 

not  found  the  magical  words,  nor  so  much  as  the 

part  of  a  word. 

* 
*  * 

Then  thought  "Wainamoinen  unto  himself: 
"  Surely  I  may  find  a  hundred  words,  a  thou 
sand  syllables  of  song,  in  the  mouth  of  the  earth- 
giant,  in  the  entrails  of  the  ancient  Kalewa ! 
Long  is  the  way  to  his  resting-place ;  one  must 
travel  awhile  over  the  points  of  women's  needles, 
and  awhile  upon  the  sharp  edges  of  warriors' 
swords,  and  }*et  again  awhile  upon  the  sharp 
steel  of  the  battle-axes  of  heroes." 

And  Wainamoinen  went  to  the  forge  of  his 
brother  Ilmarinnen,  —  Ilmarinnen,  the  Eternal 
Smith,  who  forged  the  vault  of  heaven,  leav 
ing  no  mark  of  the  teeth  of  the  pincers,  no  dent 
of  the  blows  of  the  hammer,  —  Ilmarinnen,  who 
forged  for  men  during  the  age  of  darkness  a 
sun  of  silver  and  a  moon  of  gold.  And  he  cried 
out:  "O  Ilmarinnen,  might}'  brother,  forge  me 
shoes  of  iron,  gloves  of  iron,  a  coat  of  iron ! 
forge  me  a  staff  of  iron  with  a  pith  of  steel, 
that  I  may  wrest  the  magic  words  from  the  stom 
ach  of  Kalewa,  from  the  dead  entrails  of  the 
earth-giant." 

And  Ilmarinnen  forged  them.  Yet  he  said : 
"O  brother  Wainamoinen,  the  ancient  Kalewa 
10 


146  The  Magical  Words. 

is  dead ;  the  grave  of  the  earth-giant  is  deep. 
Thou  mayst  obtain  no  word  from  him,  —  not 
even  the  beginning  of  a  word." 

But  Wainamoiuen  departed  ;  Wainamoinen  has 
tened  over  the  way  strewn  with  the  points  of 
needles  and  the  edges  of  swords  and  axe-heads 
of  sharpest  steel.  He  ran  swiftly  over  them 
with  shoes  of  iron ;  he  tore  them  from  his  path 
with  gloves  of  iron,  until  he  reached  the  resting- 
place  of  Kalewa,  the  vast  grave  of  the  earth- 
giant. 

For  a  thousand  moons  and  more  Kalewa  had 
slept  beneath  the  earth.  The  poplar-tree,  the 
haapa,  had  taken  root  upon  his  shoulders ;  the 
white  birch,  the  Jcolvu,  was  growing  from  his 
temples  ;  the  elder  tree,  the  leppa,  was  springing 
from  his  cheeks  ;  and  his  beard  had  become  over 
grown  with  />aA/w-bark,  with  the  bark  of  the 
drooping  willow.  The  shadowy  fir,  the  oraviku- 
usi,  was  rooted  in  his  forehead  ;  the  mountain-pine, 
the  havukonka,  was  sprouting  from  his  teeth ;  the 
dark  spruce,  the  petaja,  was  springing  from  his 
feet. 

But  Wainamoinen  tore  the  haapa  from  his 
shoulders,  and  the  koivu  from  his  temples,  and 
the  leppa  from  his  cheeks,  and  the  pahju-bark 
from  his  beard,  and  the  oravikuusi  from  his  fore- 


The  Magical  Words.  147 

head,  and  the  havukonka  from  his  teeth,  and  the 
petaja  from  his  feet. 

Then  into  the  mouth  of  the  Mountain-breaker, 
into  the  mouth  of  the  buried  giant,  Wainamoinen 
mightily  thrust  his  staff  of  smithied  iron. 

And  Kalewa  awoke  from  his  slumber  of  ages,  — 
awoke  with  groans  of  pain,  —  and  he  closed  his 
jaws  upon  the  staff;  but  his  teeth  could  not  crush 
the  core  of  steel,  could  not  shatter  the  staff  of  iron. 
And  as  Kalewa  opened  wider  his  mouth  to  devour 
the  tormentor,  lo !  Wainamoinen  leaped  into  the 
j-awning  throat  and  descended  into  the  mon 
strous  entrails.  And  Wainamoinen  kindled  a 
flame  in  the  giant's  bell}',  —  built  him  a  forge  in 
his  entrails. 

Then  Kalewa,  in  his  great  agony,  called  on  that 
god  who  leans  upon  the  axis  of  the  world,  and 
upon  the  blue  goddesses  of  the  waters,  and  upon 
the  deities  of  the  icy  wildernesses,  and  upon  the 
spirits  of  the  forest,  and  even  upon  the  great 
Jumala,  at  whose  birth  the  brazen  mountains  trem 
bled  and  lakes  were  changed  into  hills.  But  the 
gods  came  not  to  aid  him. 

Then  Kalewa  cursed  his  tormentor  with  a  thou 
sand  magical  curses,  —  with  curses  of  wind  and 
storm  and  fire,  —  with  curses  that  change  men's 
faces  into  stone,  —  with  curses  that  transport  the 


148  The  Magical  Words. 

accursed  to  the  vast  deserts  of  Laponia,  where 
the  hoof  of  the  horse  is  never  heard,  where  the 
children  of  the  mare  can  find  no  pasturage.  But 
the  curses  harmed  not  Wainamoinen ;  the  curses 
only  called  forth  the  laughter  of  scorn  from  the 
lips  of  Wainamoinen. 

And  Wainamoinen  cried  out  unto  Kalewa : 
"Never  shall  I  depart  from  hence,  O  thou 
mightiest  singer  of  runes,  until  I  have  learned 
from  thee  the  three  magical  words  which  I  desire, 
—  the  three  words  of  enchantment  that  I  have 
sought  throughout  the  world  in  vain.  Sing  to 
me,  O  Kalewa,  thy  songs,  thy  most  wondrous 
songs,  thy  marvellous  songs  of  enchantment." 

So  the  giant  Kalewa,  the  possessor  of  sub- 
limest  wisdom,  the  singer  of  marvellous  runes, 
opened  his  mouth  and  sang  his  songs  for  Waina 
moinen,  — •  his  most  wondrous  songs,  his  wizard 
songs. 

Words  succeeded  to  words,  verses  to  verses, 
wizard  runes  to  wizard  runes.  Ere  Kalewa  could 
sing  all  that  he  knew,  could  utter  all  that  he  had 
learned,  the  mountains  would  cease  to  be,  the 
waters  of  the  rivers  would  dry  up,  the  great  lakes 
be  depopulated  of  their  finny  people,  the  sea  have 
forgotten  its  power  to  make  waves. 

Unceasingly  he  sang  for  many  days,  unceas- 


The  Magical  Words.  149 

ingly  for  man}7  sleepless  nights  ;  he  sang  the  songs 
of  wizards,  the  songs  of  enchantment,  the  songs 
that  create  or  destroy. 

He  sang  the  songs  of  wisdom,  the  runes  sung 
by  the  gods  before  the  beginning  of  the  world, 
the  verses  by  whose  utterance  nothingness  became 
substance  and  darkness  became  light. 

And  as  he  sang  the  fair  Sun  paused  in  her 
course  to  hear  him  ;  the  golden  Moon  stopped  in 
her  path  to  listen ;  the  awful  billows  of  the  sea 
stood  still ;  the  icy  rivers  that  devour  the  pines, 
that  swallow  up  the  firs,  ceased  to  rage ;  the 
mighty  cataracts  hung  motionless  above  their 
abysses  ;  the  waves  of  Juortana  lifted  high  their 
heads  to  hear. 

And  Wainamoinen  heard  at  last  the  three 
words,  the  three  magical  words,  he  sought  for ; 
and  he  ceased  tormenting  Kalewa,  and  departed 
from  him.  So  Kalewa  sank  again  into  his  eter 
nal  slumber,  and  the  earth  that  loved  him  recov 
ered  him,  and  the  forests  rewove  their  network  of 
knotted  roots  above  his  place  of  sleep.  .  .  . 


150  The  First  Musician. 


THE  FIRST  MUSICIAN. 

In  the  ancient  runes  of  the  Finns,  the  runes  of  the  KALEWALA, 
is  related  the  creation  of  the  world  from  the  yolk  of  an  egg,  and  of 
the  heavens  from  the  shell  of  the  egg ;  also  the  origin  of  Iron  and 
the  birth  of  Steel  and  the  beginning  of  Music.  .  .  .  Now  the  first 
musician  was  no  other  than  Wainamoinen ;  and  the  first  kan- 
tele,  triple-stringed,  was  made  by  him  from  the  resonant  wood  of 
the  fir,  and  from  the  bones  of  a  giant  pike,  as  is  told  in  the 
Twenty-second  Rune.  Out  of  the  fir-tree  was  formed  the  body  of 
the  kantele ;  out  of  the  teeth  of  the  pike-fish  were  the  screws 
wrought;  and  the  strings  were  made  of  hairs  from  the  black  mane 
of  the  steed  of  Hiisi  the  magician,  — from  the  shining  mane  of  the 
stallion  of  Hiisi,  the  herder  of  wolves  and  bears.  .  .  . 

...  So  the  instrument  was  completed,  the  kan 
tele  was  prepared ;  and  the  aged  and  valiant 
Wainamoinen  bade  the  old  men  to  play  upon  it, 
and  to  sing  the  runes  of  old. 

And  they  sang,  but  wearily,  as  winds  in  moun 
tain  wastes  ;  and  their  voices  trembled  frostily, 
and  the  instrument  rebelled  against  the  touch  of 
their  feeble  fingers. 

Then  the  ancient  and  valiant  Wainamoinen 
commanded  the  }'oung  men  to  sing.  But  their 
fingers  became  cramped  upon  the  strings,  and 
the  sounds  called  forth  were  sorrowful,  and  the 
instrument  rebelled  against  their  touch.  Joy 


The  First  Musician.  151 

answered  not  unto  joy,  song  responded  not  unto 
song. 

Then  the  ancient  and  valiant  Wainamoinen 
sent  the  kantele  to  the  wizard  people  who  dwelt 
in  the  wastes  of  ice,  to  the  people  of  Pohjola,  to 
the  Witch  of  Pohjola. 

And  the  Witch  sang,  and  the  witch-virgins 
with  her ;  the  wizards  also,  and  the  children  of 
the  wizards.  But  joy  answered  not  unto  jo}' ; 
song  responded  not  unto  song.  And  the  kan 
tele  shrieked  beneath  the  touch  of  their  fingers, 
shrieked  like  one  who,  fearing  greatly  in  the 
blackness  of  the  night,  feeleth  invisible  hands 
upon  him. 

Then  spake  an  aged  man  who  had  seen  more 
than  two  hundred  winters,  —  an  ancient  man 
aroused  by  the  shrieking  of  the  kantele  from 
his  slumber  within  the  recess  of  the  hearth  : 
"  Cease  !  cease  !  for  the  sounds  which  ye  utter 
make  anguish  in  my  brain,  the  noises  which  ye 
make  do  chill  the  marrow  within  my  bones. 
Let  the  instrument  be  cast  into  the  waters,  or 
returned  forthwith  unto  him  who  wrought  it." 

Then  from  the  strings  of  the  kantele  issued 
sweet  sounds,  and  the  sounds  shaped  themselves 
into  words,  and  the  kantele  answered  with  its 
voice,  praying :  "  Cast  me  not  into  the  deep,  but 


152  The  First  Musician. 

return  me  rather  unto  him  who  wrought  me ;  for 
in  the  hands  of  my  creator  I  will  give  forth 
sounds  of  joy,  I  will  utter  sounds  of  harmonious 
sweetness." 

So  they  took   back   the   kantele  unto  "VVaina- 

moinen,  who  had  wrought  it. 

* 
*  * 

And  the  ancient  and  valiant  "Wainamoinen 
washed  his  thumbs ;  he  purified  his  fingers ;  he 
seated  himself  by  the  sea  upon  the  Stone  of  Joy, 
upon  the  Hillock  of  Silver,  even  at  the  summit  of 
the  Hill  of  Gold ;  and  he  took  the  instrument 
within  his  hands,  and  lifted  up  his  voice,  saj'ing : 
"  Let  him  that  hath  never  heard  the  strong 
joy  of  runes,  the  sweet  sound  of  instruments, 
the  sound  of  music,  come  hither  and  hear !  " 

And  the  ancient  Wainamoinen  began  to  sing 
Limpid  his  voice  as  the  voice  of  running  water, 
deep  and  clear,  mighty  and  beautiful. 

Lightly  his  fingers  ran  over  the  strings  of  the 
kantele  ;  and  the  kantele  sang  in  answer,  —  sang 
weirdby,  sang  wondrously,  sang  throbbingby,  like 
the  throats  of  a  thousand  birds.  And  its  joy 
answered  unto  the  joy  of  the  singer;  its  song 
responded  unto  Wainamoinen's  song. 

All  the  living  creatures  of  the  forest,  all  the 
living  creatures  of  air,  drew  nigh  unto  the  rune- 


The  First  Musician.  153 

singer,  gathered  themselves  about  the  mighty 
chanter,  that  they  might  hear  the  suavity  of  his 
voice,  that  they  might  taste  the  sweetness  of  his 
song. 

The  gray  wolves  came  from  their  lurking-places 
in  the  vast  marshes ;  the  bears  deserted  their 
dwellings  under  the  roots  of  the  firs,  within  the 
hollows  of  the  giant  pines  ;  and  they  clambered 
over  the  hedges  in  their  way,  they  broke  down 
the  obstacles  before  them.  And  the  wolves 
mounted  upon  the  heights,  the  bears  upon  the 
trees,  while  Wainamoinen  called  Joy  into  the 
world,  while  Wainamoinen  sang  his  wondrous 
song. 

The  lord  -of  the  forest,  also,  the  old  man  of 
the  black  beard,  —  Knippana,  king  of  the  joyous 
woods ; .  and  all  the  followers  of  Tapio,  god  of 
wild  creatures,  came  forth  to  hear,  and  were  vis 
ible.  Even  the  wife  of  the  forest  king,  the  god 
dess  of  savage  beasts,  the  mistress  of  Tapiola, 
donned  her  raiment  of  red,  and  put  on  her  azure 
stockings,  and  ascended  a  hollow  birch  that  she 
might  lend  ear  to  the  songs  of  the  god. 

All  animals  of  the  woods,  all  birds  of  the  air, 
hurried  to  hear  the  marvellous  art  of  the  musician, 
hastened  to  taste  the  sweetness  of  his  song. 

The  eagle  descended  from  the  clouds ;  the  fal- 


154  The  First  Musician. 

con  clave  the  airs ;  the  white  gulls  rose  from  the 
far  sea-marshes,  the  swans  from  the  clear  deeps 
of  running  water ;  the  swift  lark,  the  quick  finch, 
the  comely  linnet,  came  to  perch  upon  the  shoul 
ders  of  the  god. 

The  Sun,  bright  virgin  of  the  sky,  —  the  Sun, 
rich  in  her  splendors,  —  and  the  fair-shining  Moon, 
had  paused  in  their  paths ;  the  first  upon  the 
luminous  vault  of  heaven,  the  other  upon  the  end 
of  a  long  cloud.  There  were  they  weaving  their 
subtle  tissues  of  light,  —  weaving  with  shuttle  of 
gold,  carding  with  carding-comb  of  silver.  Sud 
denly  they  heard  the  unknown  voice  of  song,  — 
the  voice,  mighty  and  sweet,  of  the  rune-singer. 
And  the  shuttle  of  gold  escaped  from  their  hands, 
and  the  carding-comb  of  silver  slipped  from  their 
fingers,  and  the  threads  of  their  tissue  were 
broken. 

All  animals  living  in  the  waters,  all  the  thou- 
sand-finned  fishes  of  the  deep,  came  to  hear  the 
voice  of  Wainamoinen,  came  to  taste  the  sweet 
ness  of  his  song. 

Swiftly  came  the  salmon  and  the  trout,  the 
pikes  also  and  the  sea-dogs  ;  all  the  great  fishes 
and  all  the  little  fishes  swam  toward  the  shore, 
and  remained  as  nigh  as  they  might  remain,  and 
lifted  their  heads  to  listen. 


The  First  Musician.  155 

And  Ahto,  monarch  of  waters,  —  Ahto,  ancient 
as  the  ocean,  and  bearded  with  water-weeds,  — 
arose  upon  his  great  water-lily  above  the  waves. 

The  fertile  wife  of  the  sea-god  was  combing  her 
hair  with  a  comb  of  gold,  and  she  heard  the  voice 
of  the  singer.  And  the  comb  fell  from  her  hands  ; 
trembling  of  pleasure  seized  her,  torture  of  desire 
came  upon  her  to  hear,  so  that  she  arose  from 
the  green  abyss  and  approached  the  shore. 
There,  leaning  with  her  bosom  upon  the  rock, 
she  listened  to  the  sounds  of  the  kantele,  min 
gling  with  the  voice  of  Wainamoinen,  —  so  tender 
the  sounds,  so  sweet  the  song  ! 

All  the  heroes  wept ;  the  hardest  of  hearts  were 
softened ;  there  were  none  of  all  having  never 
wept  before  who  did  not  weep  then. 

The  youths  wept  ;  the  old  men  wept  ;  the 
strong  men  wept ;  the  virgins  wept ;  the  little 
infants  wept  ;  even  Wainamoinen  also  felt  the 
source  of  his  own  tears  rising  to  overflow. 

And  soon  his  tears  began  to  fall,  outnumbering 
the  wild  berries  of  the  hills,  the  heads  of  the  swal 
lows,  the  eggs  of  the  fowls. 

They  streamed  upon  his  cheeks  ;  and  from  his 
cheeks  they  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  from  his 
knees  they  dropped  upon  his  feet,  and  from 
his  feet  they  rolled  into  the  dust. 


156  The  First  Musician. 

And  his  tear-drops  passed  through  his  six  gar 
ments  of  wool,  his  six  girdles  of  gold,  his  seven 
robes  of  blue,  his  eight  tunics  all  thickly  woven. 

And  the  tears  of  Wainamoinen  flowed  as  a  river, 
and  became  a  river,  and  poured  themselves  to  the 
shores  of  the  sea,  and  precipitated  themselves 
from  the  shores  into  the  deeps  of  the  abyss, 
into  the  region  of  black  sands. 

There  did  they  blossom  ;  there  were  they  trans 
formed  into  pearls,  —  pearls  destined  for  the 
crowns  of  kings,  for  the  eternal  joy  of  noblest 

heroes. 

* 

*  * 

And  the  aged  Wainamoinen  cried  out  :  "O 
youths,  O  daughters  of  illustrious  race !  is  there 
none  among  ye  who  will  go  to  gather  up  my  tears 
from  the  deeps  of  the  ocean,  from  the  region  of 
black  sand  ?  " 

But  the  youths  and  the  elders  answered,  say 
ing:  "There  is  none  among  us  willing  to  go  to 
gather  up  thy  tears  from  the  deeps  of  the  ocean, 
from  the  region  of  black  sand." 

Then  a  seamew,  a  seamew  with  plumage  of 
blue,  dipped  her  beak  into  the  cold  waves ;  and 
she  gathered  the  pearls,  and  she  gathered  the 
tears,  of  Wainamoinen  from  the  deeps  of  the  ocean, 
from  the  region  of  black  sand. 


The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen.       157 


THE  HEALING  OP  WAINAMOINEN. 

..."  She  is  all  fair,  the  Goddess  of  Veins,  —  the  Goddess 
Suonetar,  the  beneficent  Goddess  of  Veins.  Marvellously  doth 
she  spin  the  veins  of  men  with  her  wondrous  spindle,  with  her 
distaff"  of  brass,  with  her  spinning-wheel  of  iron".  .  . 

LIKE  the  leaping  of  the  mountain  stream,  like 
the  rushing  of  a  torrent,  the  blood  issued  from 
the  knee  of  Wainamoinen,  wounded  by  his  own 
axe  through  the  craft  of  Hiisi  the  Evil,  through 
the  malice  of  Lempo,  the  herder  of  wolves  and 
bears. 

The  ancient  and  valiant  Wainamoinen  had 
knowledge  of  all  wisdom,  all  speech  that  is  eter 
nal,  all  magical  words  save  only  the  word  by 
which  wizard  wounds  are  healed.  He  invoked 
the  magical  art,  he  uttered  the  awful  impreca 
tion  ;  carefully  he  read  the  Original  Words,  pro 
nounced  the  runes  of  science. 

But  he  had  forgotten  the  mightiest  words, — 
the  Words  of  Blood,  the  charmed  words  by  which 
the  palpitant  torrent  is  checked,  by  which  the 
gory  stream  is  held  back,  by  which  invincible 
dikes  are  cast  athwart  the  places  broken  by 
iron,  athwart  the  bites  made  by  the  blue  teeth 
of  steel. 


158        The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen. 

And  the  blood  ceased  not  to  gush  bubbling 
from  the  wound  of  the  hero,  from  the  knee  of 

Wainamoinen. 

* 
*  * 

The  aged  and  valiant  Wainamoinen  harnessed 
his  steed  to  his  brown  sledge ;  he  mounted  upon 
the  seat,  smote  the  swift  horse,  and  cracked  his 
great  whip  adorned  with  pearls. 

The  steed  flew  over  the  long  course,  drawing 
the  brown  sledge,  devouring  distance.  Swift  as 
wind  was  the  driving  of  Wainamoinen,  until  he 
neared  the  dwelling  of  the  sorcerers,  the  first  of 
the  habitations  of  the  wizards.  And  he  halted 
at  the  threshold,  and  cried:  "Is  there  in  this 
habitation  any  man  learned  in  the  knowledge  of 
iron,  —  any  man  who  can  oppose  a  dike  to  this 
river,  who  can  check  this  torrent  of  blood  ?  " 

A  child,  a  little  child,  was  seated  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor ;  and  the  child  answered,  saying : 
' '  There  is  no  man  here  learned  in  the  knowl 
edge  of  iron,  —  no  man  able  to  assuage  with  his 
breath  even  the  bruises  of  wood,  nor  to  ease  the 
pain  of  heroes.  .  .  .  Gothou  to  another  habitation.'' 

The  ancient  and  valiant  Wainamoinen  made 
his  great  whip,  adorned  with  pearls,  whistle  upon 
the  flanks  of  his  rapid  courser.  Swift  as  light 
ning  his  course,  until  the}7  came  to  the  middle 


The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen.        159 

dwelling  ;  and  Wainamoinen  halted  at  the  thresh 
old,  and  cried  aloud  :  "  Is  there  in  this  habitation 
any  man  learned  in  the  knowledge  of  iron,  —  any 
man  able  to  oppose  a  dike  to  this  river,  to  check 
this  torrent  of  blood  ?  " 

An  aged  woman  was  there,  lying  under  her 
blankets,  chattering,  babbling,  within  the  fur 
thest  end  of  the  recess  of  the  hearth,  —  an  aged 
woman  with  three  teeth  only,  —  the  wisest  woman 
in  all  that  country.  And  she  arose  and  drew 
nigh  unto  the  door,  and  made  reply,  saying: 
"There  is  no  man  here  learned  enough  to  com 
prehend  the  misfortune  of  the  hero,  to  ease  his 
pain,  to  stop  the  river  of  the  veins,  the  rainfall 
of  blood,  the  torrent  of  blood  out-rolling.  Go, 
seek  thou  such  a  man  in  some  other  habitation." 

The  aged  and  valiant  "Wainamoinen  made  his 
great  whip,  adorned  with  pearls,  whistle  upon  the 
flanks  of  his  swift  steed.  Lightning- wise  he  fol 
lowed  the  long  way  leading  to  the  highest  habita 
tion.  And  he  descended  at  the  threshold,  and 
leaning  against  a  pillar,  cried  aloud :  "Is  there 
in  this  habitation  any  man  learned  in  the  knowl 
edge  of  iron,  —  any  man  able  to  oppose  a  dike  to 
this  river,  to  check  this  torrent  of  blood?" 

An  aged  man  dwelt  within  the  great  fireplace. 
His  voice  roared  from  the  recess  of  the  glowing 


160        The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen. 

hollow :  "  We  have  checked  mightier  ones,  we  have 
enchained  swifter  ones,  we  have  overcome  greater 
dangers,  we  have  broken  down  loftier  obstacles, 
—  even  by  the  Three  Words  of  the  Creator,  by 
the  utterance  of  the  Original  Words,  the  holy 
words.  By  them  the  mouths  of  rivers,  the  courses 
of  lakes,  the  fury  of  cataracts,  have  been  over 
come.  We  have  separated  straits  from  prom 
ontories  ;  we  have  conjoined  isthmuses  with 
isthmuses." 

.*. 

The  aged  Wainamoinen  descended  from  his 
sledge,  and  entered  beneath  the  old  man's  roof. 
A  cup  of  silver  was  brought  to  him,  and  a  cup  of 
gold ;  but  these  could  not  contain  the  least  part 
of  the  blood  of  Wainamoinen,  the  blood  of  the 
noble  god. 

The  old  man  roared  from  the  recess  of  the 
hearth,  —  the  long-beard  cried  out :  "  What  man 
ner  of  man  art  thou  ?  what  hero  ?  Already  have 
seven  cups,  eight  great  vessels,  been  filled  with 
the  blood  flowing  from  th}r  knee  !  Ah  !  would  I 
could  utter  other  magical  words,  —  even  the  great 
Words  of  Blood  !  But,  alas  !  I  have  forgotten 
the  origin  of  Iron." 

Then  said  the  aged  Wainamoinen  :  "I  know  the 
origin  of  Iron  ;  I  know  the  birth  of  Steel.  There 


The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen.        161 

were  three  children  whose  origin  was  the  same : 
Water,  which  is  the  eldest ;  Iron,  which  is  the 
jToungest ;  Fire,  to  which  the  middle  rank  belongs. 
And  Fire  soon  displa}red  its  rage  ;  flames  lifted 
themselves  insolently,  and  waxed  vast  with  pride. 
The  fields  were  consumed,  the  marshes  were 
scorched  in  that  great  year  of  sterility,  in  that 
fatal  summer  which  devoured  with  inextinguish 
able  fire  all  creatures  of  nature.  Then  did 
Iron  seek  a  refuge,  a  place  wherein  to  hide.".  .  . 

The  old  man  roared  from  the  recess  of  the 
hearth :  "  Where  did  Iron  hide  itself?  Where  did 
it  find  refuge  in  that  great  year  of  barrenness,  in 
that  fatal  summer  which  devoured  all  creatures 
of  nature?" 

The  aged  Wainamoinen,  the  valiant  Waina 
moinen,  made  answer:  "Then  Iron  hid  itself; 
Iron  found  a  refuge  in  the  extremity  of  a  long 
cloud,  in  the  summit  of  an  oak  stripped  of  its 
branches,  in  the  budding  bosom  of  a  young  girl. 
.  .  .  There  were  three  virgins,  three  affianced 
maidens,  who  poured  forth  upon  the  ground  the 
milk  of  their  breasts.  The  milk  of  the  first  was 
black;  the  milk  of  the  second,  white;  the  milk 
of  the  third  was  ruddy.  Of  the  virgin  whose  milk 
was  black,  Flexible  Iron  was  born  ;  of  her  whose 
milk  was  white,  Fragile  Iron  was  born ;  of  her 
11 


162       The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen. 

with  the  ruddy  milk  was  born  Steel.  .  .  .  Then 
for  two  years  Iron  hid  itself  in  the  midst  of  a 
vast  marsh,  upon  the  summit  of  a  rock  where  the 
white  swans  laid  their  eggs,  where  the  wild  duck 
hatched  out  her  little  ones.  And  the  wolf  rushed 
through  the  marsh  ;  and  the  bear  rushed  into  the 
sterile  plain  ;  and  they  tore  up  the  earth  that  con 
cealed  the  Iron.  But  a  god,  passing  through  that 
barren  place,  saw  the  black  sand  that  the  wolf  had 
torn  up,  that  the  bear  had  trampled  beneath  his 
feet.  .  .  .  And  that  day  the  Iron  was  taken  out 
of  the  marsh,  and  purged  from  the  slime  of  the 
earth,  and  purified  by  drying  from  the  humidit}^ 
of  the  waters." 

The  old  man  roared  from  the  recess  of  the 
hearth :  "  So  that  was  the  origin  of  Iron  ?  that 
was  the  birth  of  Steel?" 

But  the  valiant  Wainamoinen  made  answer: 
"  Nay !  not  yet  has  the  origin  of  Iron  been 
told.  For,  without  devouring  Fire,  Iron  may  not 
be  born  ;  without  Water,  it  may  not  be  hardened. 
Into  the  workshop  of  the  great  smith  it  was 
borne,  into  the  forge  of  Ilmarinnen ;  and  the 
mighty  craftsman,  the  Eternal  Smith,  said  unto 
it :  '  If  I  place  thee  within  my  fire,  if  I  put  thee 
into  the  flame  of  my  forge-fire,  thou  wilt  become 
arrogant,  thou  wilt  wax  strong,  thou  wilt  spread 


The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen.    .    163 

terror  about  thee,  thou  wilt  slay  thy  brother, 
thou  wilt  kill  the  son  of  thy  mother.'.  .  .  Then 
the  Iron  within  the  forge  fires,  under  the  blows 
of  the  hammer,  sware  this  oath :  '  I  have  trees  to 
rend,  hearts  of  stone  to  gnaw ;  no !  never  will  I 
slay  my  brother,  never  will  I  kill  the  son  of  my 
mother.'.  .  .  Then  did  Ilmarinnen  soften  the  Iron 
within  the  heart  of  the  furnace,  and  shape  it  upon 
the  anvil.  But  ere  dipping  it  into  the  water,  he 
tested  with  his  tongue,  he  tasted  with  his  palate, 
the  creative  juices  of  Steel,  the  water  that  gives 
hardness  unto  Iron.  And  he  cried :  '  This  water 
is  powerless  to  create  Steel,  to  harden  Iron.  O 
Mehilainen,  bird  of  Hiisi !  O  Herlihainen,  my 
bird-friend !  fly  hither  upon  thine  agile  wings ; 
fly  over  the  marshes,  over  the  lands,  over  the 
straits  of  the  ocean !  bring  me  honey  upon  thy 
feathers ;  bear  to  me  upon  thy  tongue  the  honey 
of  seven  meadow-stalks,  of  six  flower-pistils,  for 
the  Steel  I  am  going  to  make,  for  the  Iron  I  wish 
to  harden.'.  .  .  But  Herlihainen,  the  evil  bird  of 
Hiisi  the  Evil,  brought  the  venom  of  blood,  the 
black  juices  of  a  worm  that  his  lizard-eyes  had 
seen,  the  hidden  poison  of  the  toad  ;  and  he  gave 
these  to  Ilmarinnen  for  the  Steel  which  was  being 
prepared,  the  Iron  that  was  to  be  tempered.  And 
suddenly  the  Iron  quivered  with  rage  ;  it  growled ; 


164       The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen. 

it  moved ;  its  oath  was  forgotten ;  like  a  dog  it 
swallowed  its  own  oath,  and  it  slew  its  brother,  it 
murdered  the  son  of  its  mother.  Even  now  it 
plunges  into  flesh,  bites  the  knees  of  men,  rages 
so  that  blood  flows  and  flows  and  overflows  in 
vast  torrents." 

The  old  man  roared  from  the  recess  of  the 
hearth:  "Now  I  know  the  origin  of  Iron,  the 
fatal  destiny  of  Steel ! "  And  to  his  memory 
came  back  the  Original  Words,  the  great  Words 
of  Blood ;  and  he  cursed  the  Iron  with  magical 
curses,  and  quelled  with  caressing  speech  the 
panic  of  the  fleeing  blood.  And  the  hurt  of  the 
Iron  ceased,  and  the  red  torrent  stayed  its  flowing. 

Then  the  old  man  took  within  his  fingers  the 
extremities  of  the  veins,  and  counted  them,  and 
uttered  the  magical  prayer :  — 

"  All  fair  is  she,  the  Goddess  of  Veins,- — 
Suonetar,  the  beneficent  Goddess  of  Veins.  Mar 
vellously  doth  she  spin  the  veins  of  men  with  her 
beautiful  spindle,  with  her  distaff1  of  brass,  with 
her  spinning-wheel  of  iron.  .  .  .  Come,  O  Goddess 
of  Veins  !  come  unto  me  !  I  invoke  thy  succor^ 
I  call  thy  name  /  .  .  .  Bring  hither  in  thy  bosom 
a  roll  of  ruddy  flesh,  a  blue  skein  of  veins,  that 
the  wound  may  be  filled,  that  the  ends  of  the 
veins  may  be  tied!"  .  .  . 


The  Healing  of  Wainamoinen.       165 

And  suddenly  the  hurt  of  Wainamoinen  was 
healed  :  the  flesh  became  firmer  than  before  ;  the 
severed  veins  were  retied,  the  severed  muscles 

rejoined,  the  broken  bones  reknit. 

* 
*  * 

And  man}^  other  wonderful  things  said  and 
done  by  the  old  man  within  the  recess  of  the 
hearth  are  told  of  in  the  Fourth  Rune  of  the 
ancient  Kalewala. 


1  /> 

•J 


STORIES   OF  MOSLEM  LANDS. 


BOUTIMAR,  THE  DOVE. 


.  .  .  Beyond  the  seas  which  are  known  roar  the  waters  of  that 
Tenebrous  Ocean  that  is  unknown  to  mortals.  There  the  long 
breakers  chant  an  eternal  hymn,  in  tones  unlike  to  the  voices  of 
other  seas.  And  in  that  ocean  there  is  an  island,  and  in  that 
island  the  Fountain  of  Youth  unceasingly  bubbles  up  from  the 
mystic  caverns ;  and  it  was  that  fountain  which  King  Alexander 
the  Two-Horned,  vainly  sought.  Only  his  general,  the  Prophet 
Khader,  found  it,  whereby  he  became  immortal.  And  of  other 
mortals  Solomon  only  beheld  the  waters  of  that  fountain,  according 
to  the  Persian  legend  written  in  the  nine  hundredth  year  of  the 
Hejira,  by  the  goldsmith,  of  language,  Hossein  ben  AH,  also  called 
El  Vaez  u'l  Kashifi.  And  it  may  be  found  in  the  ANVARI 
SOHBILI,  which  are  "  The  Lights  of  Canopus."  .  .  . 

IN  the  Name  of  the  Most  Merciful  God !  .  .  .  I 
have  heard  this  tradition  of  Solomon,  the  unparal 
leled  among  kings,  for  whom  all  Genii,  and  Peris, 
and  men,  and  beasts  of  earth,  and  birds  of  air, 
and  creatures  of  the  deep  begirt  the  loins  of  their 
souls  with  the  girdle  of  obedience,  and  whose 


170  Boutimar,  the  Dove. 

power  was  measurable  only  by  the  hoofs  of  the 
horse  of  the  Zephyr,  "  whose  morning  course  is  a 
month's  journey,  and  whose  evening  course  is  also 
equal  to  a  month's  journey,  upon  the  swiftest  of 
earthly  steeds." 

.  .  .  Now,  Solomon  being  once  enthroned  upon 
the  summit  of  the  mightiest  of  mountains,  which 
yet  bears  his  name,  —  the  mountain  at  once  over 
looking  the  plains  of  Iran  and  the  kingdoms  of 
India,  —  all  the  creatures  of  the  universe  gath 
ered  to  do  him  honor.  The  birds  of  heaven 
formed  a  living  canopy  above  him,  and  the  spirits 
of  air  ministered  unto  him.  And,  as  a  mist  ris 
ing  from  the  earth,  a  perfumed  cloud  shaped 
itself  before  him ;  and  from  out  the  cloud  reached 
a  hand,  fairer  than  moonlight,  holding  a  diamond 
cup  in  which  a  strange  water  made  jewel-glimmer 
ings,  while  a  voice  sweeter  than  music  spake  to 
him  from  out  the  cloud,  saying:  "The  Creator 
of  all  —  be  His  nature  forever  glorified  and  His 
power  forever  honored !  —  hath  sent  me  to  thee, 
O  Solomon,  with  this  cup  containing  the  waters 
of  youth  and  of  life  without  end.  And  He  hath 
desired  thee  to  choose  freely  whether  thou  wilt 
or  wilt  not  drink  of  this  draught  from  the  Foun 
tain  of  Youth.  Therefore  consider  well,  O  Solo 
mon  !  Wilt  thou  drink  hereof,  and  live  divinely 


Boutimar,  the  Dove.  171 

immortal  through  ages  everlasting,  or  wilt  thou 
rather  remain  within  the  prison  of  humanity? 
...  I  wait." 

Then  a  deep  silence  brooded  above  the  place ; 
for  Solomon  dreamed  upon  these  words,  while 
the  perfumed  cloud  stirred  not,  and  the  white 
hand  motionlessly  offered  the  jewel-cup.  And  so 
dreaming,  he  said  unto  his  own  heart:  "  Surely 
the  gold  of  life  is  good  wherewith  to  purchase 
many  things  at  the  great  market  of  the  Resur 
rection  ;  the  plain  of  life  is  a  rich  soil  wherein  to 
plant  the  spice-trees  of  eternal  felicity  ;  and  joy 
less  is  the  black  repose  of  death.  .  .  .  Yet  must  I 
ask  counsel  of  the  Genii,  and  the  Peris,  and  the 
wisest  of  men,  and  the  beasts  of  earth,  and  the 
birds  of  air,  before  I  may  resolve  to  drink." 

Still  the  moon- white  hand  offered  the  scintillat 
ing  cup,  and  the  perfumed  cloud  changed  not. 
Then  the  Genii,  and  the  Peris,  and  the  wisest  of 
men,  and  the  beasts  of  earth,  and  the  birds  of 
heaven,  all  speaking  with  one  voice  of  agreement, 
prayed  him  that  he  should  drink,  inasmuch  as  the 
well-being  of  the  world  reposed  upon  his  living 
wisdom,  and  the  happiness  of  all  creatures  was 
sustained  by  the  circle  of  his  life  as  a  jewel  held 
within  the  setting  of  a  ring  of  gold. 

So  that  Solomon  indeed  put  out  his  hand,  and 


172  Boutimar,  the  Dove. 

took  the  cup  from  the  luminous  fingers ;  and  the 
fingers  withdrew  again  into  the  odorous  cloud. 
Wondrous  were  the  lights  within  the  water ;  and 
there  was  a  glow  of  rosiness  unbroken  all  about 
the  cup,  as  of  the  sempiternal  dawn  in  those  isl 
ands  beyond  the  Ocean  of  Shadows,  where  the 
sun  rises  never  above  the  east  and  there  is 
neither  night  nor  day.  But  hesitating  yet  once 
more  before  he  drank,  he  questioned  again  the 
creatures  of  the  universe,  asking:  "  O  ye  admin 
istering  Genii  and  Peri  beings,  ye  wisest  among 
wise  men,  ye  creatures  also  of  air  and  of  earth, 
say  if  there  be  absent  from  this  assembly  even 
one  representative  of  all  over  whom  I  hold 
dominion ! " 

And  they  replied:  "  Master,  only  Boutimar  is 
not  here,  —  Boutimar  the  wild  dove,  most  loving 
of  all  living  creatures." 

Then  Solomon  sent  Hudh-hudh  to  seek  the  wild 
dove,  —  Hudh-hudh,  the  bird  of  gold,  created  by 
the  witchcraft  of  Baucis,  Queen  of  Sheba,  the  sor 
ceress  of  sorceresses  ;  and  the  golden  bird  brought 
back  with  him  Boutimar,  the  wild  dove,  most  lov 
ing  of  all  living  creatures.  Then  it  was  that  Solo 
mon  repeated  the  words  of  the  song  which  he  had 
written:  "  O  my  dove  that  dwellest  in  the  clifts 
of  the  rock,  in  the  secret  hiding-places  of  the 


Boutimar,  the  Dove.  173 

stairs,  let  me  see  thy  face,  let  me  hear  thy  voice  ! 
...  Is  it  meet  that  tlr\r  lord,  Solomon,  shall  drink 
of  the  waters  of  youth  and  know  the  bliss  of 
earthly  immortality  ?  " 

Then  the  wild  dove,  speaking  in  the  tongue  of 
birds  known  to  Solomon  only  among  mortals, 
asked  the  prophet-king,  saying :  ' '  How  shall  a 
creature  of  air  answer  the  source  of  wisdom  ?  how 
may  so  feeble  a  mind  advise  thy  supernal  intel 
ligence  ?  Yet,  if  I  must  counsel,  let  me  ask  thee, 
O  Solomon,  whether  the  Water  of  Life  brought 
hither  by  this  perfumed  spirit  be  for  thee  alone,  or 
for  all  with  whom  thy  heart  might  incline  thee  to 
share  it  ?  " 

But  Solomon  answered  :  "  It  hath  been  sent  to 
only  me,  nor  is  there  enough  within  the  cup  for 
any  other." 

"  0  prophet  of  God !  "  answered  Boutimar,  in 
the  tongue  of  birds,  "  how  couldst  thou  desire  to 
be  living  alone,  when  each  of  thy  friends  and  of 
thy  counsellors  and  of  thy  children  and  of  thy 
servants  and  of  all  who  loved  thee  were  counted 
with  the  dead?  For  all  of  these  must  surely 
drink  the  bitter  waters  of  death,  though  thou 
shouldst  drink  the  "Water  of  Life.  Wherefore 
desire  everlasting  youth,  when  the  face  of  the 
world  itself  shall  be  wrinkled  with  age,  and  the 


174  Boutimar,  the  Dove. 

eyes  of  the  stars  shall  be  closed  by  the  black  fin 
gers  of  Azrael?  "When  the  love  thou  hast  sung 
of  shall  have  passed  away  like  a  smoke  of  frank 
incense,  when  the  dust  of  the  heart  that  beat 
against  thine  own  shall  have  long  been  scattered 
by  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  when  the  eyes  that 
looked  for  thy  coming  shall  have  become  a  mem 
ory,  when  the  voices  grateful  to  thine  ear  shall 
have  been  eternally  stilled,  when  thy  life  shall  be 
one  oasis  in  a  universal  waste  of  death,  and  thine 
eternal  existence  but  a  recognition  of  eternal  ab 
sence,  —  wilt  thou  indeed  care  to  live,  though  the 
wild  dove  perish  when  its  mate  cometh  not  ?  " 

And  Solomon,  without  reply,  silently  put  out 
his  arm  and  gave  back  the  cup,  so  that  the  white 
hand  came  forth  and  took  it,  and  withdrew  into 
the  odorous  cloud,  and  the  cloud  dissolved  and 
passed  away  forever.  But  upon  the  prophet- 
king's  rich  beard,  besprinkled  with  powder  of 
gold,  there  appeared  another  glitter  as  of  clear 
dew,  —  the  diamond  dew  of  the  heart,  which  is 
tears. 


The  Son  of  a  Robber.  175 


THE   SON  OF  A  BOBBER. 

. . .  A  bud  from  the  Hose-garden  of  the  Gulistan,  planted  in 
the  six  hundred  and  fifty-sixth  year  of  the  Hejira  by  the  Magician 
of  Speech,  the  Sheikh  Moslih-Eddin  Sadi  of  Shiraz,  and  arranged 
after  eight  divisions  corresponding  with  the  Eight  Gates  of  Para 
dise.  .  . .  In  the  reign  of  the  King  of  Kings,  Abou-Bequer  ben 
Sad,  the  Most  Magnificent,  Viceregent  of  Solomon,  Shadow  of 
the  Most  High  God  upon  Earth.  .  .  .  In  the  Name  of  God  the 
Most  Merciful. 

...  IN  those  days  there  were  robbers  who 
dwelt  in  the  mountain  regions  of  the  land,  hav 
ing  fortresses  above  the  eagle's  nests,  so  that 
no  army  might  successfully  assail  them.  Their 
name  weighed  as  a  terror  upon  the  land,  and 
they  closed  up  the  ways  of  the  caravans,  and 
wasted  the  valle}rs,  and  overcame  even  the  king's 
troops  by  their  strength  and  their  fierceness,  — 
all  being  mountain-born  and  worshippers  of  de 
vouring  fire.  So  the  governors  of  the  mountain 
provinces  held  council  together,  and  devised  cun 
ning  plans  by  which  to  allure  the  robbers  from 
their  inaccessible  mountain  dwelling,  so  as  to 
destroy  them  utterly. 

Therefore  it  came  to  pass  that  while  the  rob 
bers  were  pursuing  after  a  caravan,  the  bravest 


176  The  Son  of  a  Bobber. 

troops  of  the  king  concealed  themselves  in  the 
defiles  of  the^  mountain,  and  there  in  silence 
awaited  the  return  of  the  band  with  many  rich 
spoils  and  captives  of  price  for  ransom.  And 
when  the  robbers  returned  at  night,  hard  pressed 
by  that  greatest  enemy  of  the  wary,  whose  name 
is  Sleep,  the  Persian  soldiers  set  upon  them,  and 
smote  them,  and  bound  their  arms  behind  their 
backs,  and  drave  them  as  a  herd  of  wild  sheep 
into  the  city.  So  they  were  brought  into  the 
presence  of  the  king. 

And  the  king  commended  the  wisdom  of  the 
governors  of  the  provinces,  saying:  "Had  ye 
not  thus  prevailed  against  them  by  craft,  the 
strength  of  the  robbers  might  have  waxed  with 
each  day  of  immunit}*,  until  it  would  have  been 
beyond  our  power  to  destro3"  them.  The  spring 
may  be  closed  at  its  mouth  with  a  small  cover 
ing  ;  but  when  it  shall  have  been  swollen  to  a 
river  by  long  flowing,  a  man  may  not  cross  its 
current  even  upon  the  back  of  an  elephant.  .  .  . 
Let  each  and  all  of  these  prisoners  be  forthwith 
put  to  death  as  robbers  are  put  to  death  under 
our  law." 

But  among  these  robbers  there  was  a  j-outh 
slender  and  shapely  as  a  3'oung  palm  ;  and  the 
fruit  of  his  adolescence  was  yet  unripe,  the  ver- 


The  Son  of  a  Bobber.  177 

dure  of  the  rose-garden  of  his  cheeks  had  scarcely 
begun  to  bud.  And  by  reason  of  the  beauty  of 
the  boy,  a  kindly  vizier  bowed  his  white  beard  be 
fore  the  steps  of  the  throne,  and  kissed  the  foot 
stool  of  the  king,  and  prayed  him  with  words 
of  intercession :  "  Hear  the  prayer  of  a  slave,  0 
Master  of  the  "World,  Axis  of  the  Circle  of  Time, 
Shadow  upon  Earth  of  the  Most  High  God !  .  .  . 
This  child  hath  never  eaten  of  the  fruit  of  life, 
never  hath  he  enjoyed  the  loveliness  of  the  flower 
of  j-outh.  .  .  .  O  Master  of  Kings,  thy  slave  hopes 
that  in  thy  universal  generosity  and  boundless 
bounty,  thou  wilt  impose  upon  thy  slave  a  fresh 
obligation  of  gratitude,  by  sparing  the  life  of 
this  child.".  .  . 

Kindly  was  the  king's  heart,  but  his  mind  was 
keen  also  and  clear  as  edge  of  diamond ;  and  he 
knitted  his  brows  because  the  discourse  seemed 
to  him  unwise,  and  therefore  pleased  him  not: 
"O  vizier,  dost  thou  not  know  that  the  influ 
ence  of  the  good  can  make  no  impression  upon 
the  hearts  of  those  whose  origin  is  evil?  Hast 
thou  not  heard  it  said  that  the  willow  giveth  no 
fruit,  however  fertilizing  the  rain  of  heaven? 
Shall  we  extinguish  a  fire,  and  leave  charcoal 
embers  alight?  shall  we  destroy  only  the  adult 
viper,  and  spare  her  young?  It  is  better  that 
12 


ITS  The  Son  of  a  Robber. 

these  people  be  utterly  destroyed,  root  and 
branch,  race  and  name.".  .  . 

But  the  aged  vizier,  bowing  respectfully,  again 
prayed  the  king,  justly  commending  the  wisdom 
of  his  words,  but  seeking  exceptions  and  para 
bles  from  the  saj-ings  of  the  wise  and  the  tra 
ditions  of  the  prophets :  ' '  The  words  of  the 
Successor  of  Solomon  are  wisdom  supreme  to 
thy  slave ;  and  were  this  boy  indeed  raised 
up  by  the  wicked,  he  would  surely  become  as 
the}r.  Yet  thy  slave  believes  that  were  he  edu 
cated  only  by  the  best  of  men,  he  might  be 
come  most  virtuous.  Nor  would  thy  slave  spare 
aught  requisite  to  adorn  the  boy's  heart  and 
to  make  blossom  the  garden  of  his  mind.  .  .  . 
The  prophetical  tradition  saith :  There  is  no 
child  born  of  woman  that  is  not  naturally  born 
into  Islam,  though  his  father  and  mother  might 
afterward  make  him  a  Jew,  a  Christian,  or  a 
Gheber.  .  .  .  And  even  the  dog  Kitmir,  that  fol 
lowed  and  guarded  the  Seven  Holy  Sleepers  of 
Mecca,  was  able  to  enter  Paradise  by  seizing  with 
his  teeth  the  hem  of  their  blessed  robes.".  .  . 

Then  many  other  ministers  and  rulers  of  prov 
inces,  unwisely  bewitched  by  the  beauty  of  the 
bo}*,  united  themselves  with  the  vizier  in  potent 
intercession.  The  king's  face  moved  not,  and 


The  Son  of  a  Robber.  179 

the  shadow  remained  upon  it ;  but  he  answered : 
' '  I  pardon  the  boy  by  reason  of  the  weakness 
of  your  hearts,  yet  I  perceive  no  advantage 
therein.  O  vizier,  bear  in  mind  that  the  benefi 
cent  rains  of  heaven  give  radiance  to  the  splen 
dors  of  the  tulip  and  strength  to  the  venom  of 
serpent-plants.  Remember  well  that  the  vilest 
enemy  may  not  be  despised,  and  that  the  stream 
now  too  shallow  for  the  fish  may  so  swell  as  to 
carry  away  the  camel  with  his  burthen.".  .  . 

But  the  vizier,  weeping  with  joy,  took  the  boy 
home,  and  clothed  him  and  fed  him,  and  brought 
him  up  as  his  own  sons  and  as  the  sons  of  princes. 
Masters  he  procured  for  him,  to  make  him  learned 
in  the  knowledge  of  tongues  and  of  graces  and 
of  military  accomplishments, —  in  the  arts  of  arch 
ery  and  sword-play  and  horsemanship,  in  singing 
and  in  the  musical  measurement  of  speech,  in 
courtesy  and  truth,  above  all  things,  and  those 
high  qualities  desirable  in  the  service  of  the  King 
of  Kings  upon  earth.  So  strong  and  beautiful 
he  grew  up  that  the  gaze  of  all  eyes  followed 
whithersoever  he  moved,  even  as  the  waves  all 
turn  their  heads  to  look  upon  the  moon ;  and 
all,  save  only  the  king,  smiled  upon  him.  But 
the  king  only  frowned  when  he  stood  before 
him,  and  paid  no  heed  to  the  compliments  ut- 


180  The  Son  of  a  Robber. 

tered  concerning  the  j^oung  man.  One  da}7,  the 
vizier,  in  the  pride  of  his  happiness,  said  to 
the  king:  "Behold!  by  the  work  of  thy  slave, 
the  boy  hath  been  reclaimed  from  the  ways 
of  his  fathers ;  the  fountain  of  his  mind  hath 
been  opened  by  wise  teachers,  and  the  garden  of 
his  heart  blossoms  with  the  flowers  of  virtuous 
desire." 

But  the  king  only  laughed  in  his  beard,  and 
said:  "  O  vizier,  the  young  of  the  wolf  will  al 
ways  be  a  wolf,  even  though  he  be  brought  up 
with  the  children  of  a  man." 

*  * 

.  .  .  And  when  the  time  of  two  winters  had 
dimmed  the  recollection  of  the  king's  words,  it 
came  to  pass  at  last  that  the  young  man,  riding 
out  alone,  met  with  a  band  of  mountain  robbers, 
and  felt  his  heart  moved  toward  them.  They, 
also,  knowing  his  race  by  the  largeness  and  fierce 
ness  of  his  eyes,  and  the  eagle-curve  of  his  nos 
trils,  and  the  signs  of  the  wild  blood  that  made 
lightnings  in  his  veins,  were  attracted  to  him,  and 
spake  to  him  in  the  mountain-tongue  of  his  fa 
thers.  And  all  the  fierceness  of  his  fathers  returned 
upon  him,  with  longings  for  the  wind- voices  of  the 
peaks,  and  the  madness  of  leaping  water,  and  the 
sleeping-places  above  the  clouds  where  the  eagles 


A  Legend  of  Love.  181 

hatched  their  young,  and  the  secrets  of  the  un 
known  caverns,  and  the  altar  of  flickering  fire.  .  .  . 
So  that  he  made  compact  with  them ;  and,  treach 
erously  returning,  slew  the  aged  vizier  together 
with  his  sons,  and  robbed  the  palace,  and  fled  to 
the  mountains,  where  he  took  refuge  in  his  father's 
ancient  fortress,  and  became  a  leader  of  outlaws. 
And  they  told  the  tale  to  the  king. 

Then  the  king,  wondering  not  at  all,  laughed 
bitterly  and  said :  "  O  ye  wise  fools !  how  can  a 
good  sword  be  wrought  from  bad  iron  ?  how  may 
education  change  the  hearts  of  the  wicked  ?  Doth 
not  the  same  rain  which  nourisheth  the  rose  also 
nourish  the  worthless  shrubs  that  grow  in  salty 
marshes  ?  How  shall  a  salty  waste  produce  nard  ? 
Verily,  to  do  good  unto  the  evil  is  not  less  blame 
worthy  than  to  do  evil  unto  the  good." 


A  LEGEND  OF  LOVE. 

Djemil  the  AZRA  said :  "  While  I  live,  my  heart  will  love 
thee  ;  and  when  I  shall  be  no  more,  still  will  my  Shadow  follow 
thy  Shadow  athwart  the  tombs".  .  . 

THOU  hast  perchance  beheld  it,  —  the  strong 
white  city  climbing  by  terraces  far  up  the  moun- 


182  A  Legend  of  Love. 

tain-side,  with  palms  swaying  in  the  blue  above 
its  citadel  towers,  and  the  lake- waters  damas 
cened  by  winds,  reflecting,  all-quiveringly,  its 
Arabian  gates  and  the  golden  words  of  the 
Prophet  shining  upon  entablatures,  and  the 
mosque-domes  rounded  like  eggs  of  the  Rok, 
and  the  minarets  from  which  the  voice  of  the 
muezzin  comes  to  the  faithful  with  dying  red 
ness  of  sunset:  "0  ye  who  are  about  to  sleep, 
commend  your  souls  to  Him  who  never 
sleeps ! " 

.  .  .  Therein  also  dwelt  many  Christians, — may 
their  bones  be  ground  and  the  names  of  them  for 
ever  blotted  out !  Yea ;  all  save  one,  whose  name 
I  have  indeed  forgotten.  (But  our  master  the 
Prophet  hath  written  the  name ;  and  it  hath  not 
been  forgotten  by  Him  who  never  forgets,  — 
though  it  be  the  name  of  a  woman  !)  Now,  hard 
by  the  walls  of  the  city  there  is  a  place  of  sepul 
chre  for  good  Moslems,  in  which  thou  mayst  see 
two  graves,  the  foot  of  one  being  set  against 
the  foot  of  the  other ;  and  upon  one  of  these 
is  a  monument  bearing  a  turban,  while  the  form 
of  the  tumulary  stone  upon  the  other  hath  only 
flowers  in  relief,  and  some  letters  of  an  obliterated 
name,  wherefore  thou  mightst  know  it  to  be 
the  grave  of  a  woman.  And  there  are  cypress- 


A  Legend  of  Love.  183 

trees  more  ancient  than  Islam,  making  darkness 

like  a  summer's  night  about  the  place. 

* 
*  * 

.  .  .  Slender  she  was  as  the  tulip  upon  its  stalk, 
and  in  walking  her  feet  seemed  kisses  pressed 
upon  the  ground.  But  hadst  thou  beheld  her 
face  unveiled,  and  the  whiteness  of  her  teeth  be 
tween  her  brown  lips  when  she  smiled  !  .  .  .  He 
was  likewise  in  the  summer  of  his  youth ;  and 
his  love  was  like  the  love  of  the  Beni-Azra  told  of 
by  Sahid  Ben-Agba.  But  she  being  a  Christian 
maiden  and  he  being  a  good  Mussulman,  they  could 
not  converse  together  save  by  stealth  ;  nor  could 
either  dare  to  let  the  matter  become  known  unto 
the  parents  of  the  other.  For  he  could  not  indeed 
make  himself  one  of  the  infidel  —  whose  posterity 
may  God  blot  out!  —  neither  could  she,  through 
fear  of  her  people,  avow  the  faith  of  the  Prophet ! 
.  .  .  Only  through  the  lattice  of  her  window  could 
she  betimes  converse  with  him  ;  and  with  the  love 
of  each  other  it  came  to  pass  that  both  fell  griev 
ously  ill.  As  to  the  youth,  indeed,  his  sickness 
so  wrought  upon  him  that  his  reason  departed, 
and  he  long  remained  as  one  mad.  Then  at 
last,  recovering,  he  departed  to  another  place, 
even  to  the  city  of  Damascus,  —  not  that  he 
might  so  forget  what  he  could  not  wish  to 


184  A  Legend  of  Love. 

forget,   but  that  his    strength  might  return  to 
him. 


Now  the  parents  of  the  maiden  were  rich,  while 
the  youth  was  poor.  And  when  the  lovers  had 
contrived  to  send  letters  one  unto  the  other,  she 
sent  to  him  a  hundred  dinars,  begging  him,  as 
he  loved  her,  that  he  should  seek  out  an  artist 
in  that  city,  and  have  a  likeness  of  himself  painted 
for  her  that  she  might  kiss  it.  "But  knowest 
thou  not,  beloved,"  he  wrote,  "  that  it  is  contrary 
unto  our  creed ;  and  in  the  Last  Day  what  wilt 
thou  say  unto  God  when  He  shall  demand  of 
thee  to  give  life  unto  the  image  thou  hast  had 
wrought?"  But  she  replied :  "In  the  Last  Day, 
O  my  beloved,  I  shall  answer,  Thou  knowest,  O 
Most  Hoty,  that  Thy  creature  may  not  create  ;  yet 
if  it  be  Thy  will  to  animate  this  image,  I  will  for 
ever  bless  Thy  name,  though  Thou  condemn  me 
for  having  loved  more  than  mine  own  soul  the 
fairest  of  living  images  Thou  hast  made.".  .  . 

.*• 

But  it  came  to  pass  in  time  that,  returning, 

he  fell  sick  again  in  the  city  which  I  speak  of; 
and  lying  down  to  die,  he  whispered  into  the 
ear  of  his  friend:  "Never  again  in  this  world 
shall  I  behold  her  whom  my  soul  loveth ;  and 


A  Legend  of  Love.  185 

I  much  fear,  if  I  die  a  Mussulman,  lest  I  should 
not  meet  her  in  the  other.  Therefore  I  de 
sire  to  abjure  my  faith,  and  to  become  a  Chris 
tian."  And  so  he  died.  But  we  buried  him 
among  the  faithful,  forasmuch  as  his  mind  must 
have  been  much  disturbed  when  he  uttered  those 
words. 

And  the  friend  of  the  youth  hastened  with  all 
speed  to  the  place  where  the  }'oung  girl  dwelt, 
she  being  also  at  the  point  of  death,  so  grievous 
was  the  pain  of  her  heart.  Then  said  she  to  him : 
"  Never  again  in  this  world  shall  I  behold  him 
that  my  soul  loveth ;  and  I  much  fear  if  I  die  a 
Christian,  lest  I  should  not  meet  him  in  the  other. 
Therefore  I  give  testimony  that  there  is  no  other 
God  but  God,  and  that  Mahomet  is  the  prophet 
of  God ! " 

Then  the  friend  whispered  unto  her  what  had 
happened,  to  her  great  astonishment.  But  she 
only  answered:  "J3ear  me  to  where  he  rests; 
and  bury  me  with  my  feet  toward  his  feet,  that 
Imay  rise  face  to  face  with  him  at  the  Day  of 
Judgment!" 


186  The  King's  Justice. 


THE  KING'S  JUSTICE. 

.  .  .  Praise  to  the  Creator  of  all,  the  secret  of  whose  existence  is 
unknown ;  who  hath  marked  all  Ills  creatures  with  an  imprint' 
though  there  be  no  visible  imprint  of  Himself;  who  is  the  Soul  of 
the  soul ;  who  is  hidden  in  that  which  is  hidden  /  .  .  .  Though  the 
firmament  open  its  myriad  million  eyes  in  the  darkness,  it  may 
not  behold  Him.  Yet  does  the  Sun  nightly  bow  his  face  of  flame 
below  the  west,  in  worship  ;  monthly  the  Moon  faints  away  in  as 
tonishment  at  His  greatness.  .  .  .  Eternally  Hie  Ocean  lifts  its  thou 
sand  waves  to  proclaim  His  glory ;  Fire  seeks  to  rise  to  Him ; 
Winds  whisper  of  His  mystery.  .  .  .  And  in  the  balance  of  His 
justice  even  a  sigh  hath  weight.  .  .  . 

IN  the  first  recital  of  the  First  Book  of  the  Gu- 
listan,  treating  of  the  Conduct  of  Kings,  it  is  said 
that  a  Persian  monarch  condemned  with  his  own 
lips  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  commanded  that  he  be 
put  to  death. 

And  the  prisoner,  being  still  in  the  force  of 
youth  and  the  fulness  of  strength,  thought  within 
his  heart  of  all  the  da}Ts  he  might  otherwise  have 
lived,  of  all  the  beauty  he  might  have  caressed, 
of  all  the  happiness  he  might  have  known,  of 
all  the  hopes  unbudded  that  might  have  ripened 
into  blossom  for  him.  Thus  regretting,  and  see 
ing  before  him  onhr  the  blind  and  moonless  night 
of  death,  and  considering  that  the  fair  sun  would 


The  King's  Justice.  187 

never  rise  for  him  again,  he  cursed  the  king  in 
the  language  of  malediction  of  his  own  coun 
try,  loudly  and  with  mad  passion.  For  it  is  a 
proverb  :  "  Whosoever  washeth  his  hands  of  life, 
truly  saith  all  that  is  within  his  heart." 

Now  the  king,  hearing  the  vehemence  of  the 
man,  but  nowise  understanding  the  barbaric  tongue 
which  he  spoke,  questioned  his  first  vizier,  ask 
ing,  "What  saith  the  dog?" 

But  the  vizier,  being  a  kindly-hearted  man,  an 
swered  thus  :  "  O  Master,  he  repeateth  the  words 
of  the  Holy  Book,  the  words  of  the  Prophet  of 
God  concerning  those  who  repress  their  anger  and 
pardon  injury,  the  beloved  of  Allah." 

And  the  king,  hearing  and  believing  these  words, 
felt  his  heart  moved  within  him ;  the  fire  of  his 
anger  died  out,  and  the  spirit  of  pity  entered  into 
him,  so  that  he  revoked  his  own  command  and 
forgave  the  man,  and  ordered  that  he  should  be 
set  free. 

But  there  was  another  vizier  also  with  the  king, 
a  malevolent  and  cunning-eyed  man,  knowing  all 
languages,  and  ever  seeking  to  obtain  elevation 
by  provoking  the  misfortune  of  others.  This 
vizier,  assuming  therefore  an  austere  face  like  to 
that  of  a  praying  dervish,  loudly  exclaimed  :  "111 
doth  it  become  trusted  ministers  of  a  king,  men 


188  The  King's  Justice. 

of  honorable  place,  such  as  we  are,  to  utter  in  the 
presence  of  our  master  even  so  much  as  one  syl 
lable  of  untruth.  Know,  therefore,  O  Master, 
that  the  first  vizier  hath  untruthfully  interpreted 
the  prisoner's  words ;  for  that  wretch  uttered  no 
single  pious  word,  but  evil  and  blasphemous  lan 
guage  concerning  thee,  cursing  his  king  in  the 
impotency  of  his  rage." 

But  the  king's  brows  darkened  when  he  heard 
the  words ;  and  turning  terrible  eyes  upon  the 
second  vizier,  he  said  unto  him :  ' '  More  pleasant 
to  my  ears  was  the  lie  uttered  by  my  first  vizier, 
than  the  truth  spoken  by  thy  lips ;  for  he  indeed 
uttered  a  lie  with  a  good  and  merciful  purpose, 
whereas  thou  didst  speak  the  truth  for  a  wicked 
and  malignant  purpose.  Better  the  lie  told  for 
righteous  ends  than  the  truth  which  provoketh 
evil !  Neither  shall  my  pardon  be  revoked  ;  but 
as  for  thee,  let  me  see  thy  face  no  more !  " 


TRADITIONS   RETOLD   FROM  THE 
TALMUD. 


A  LEGEND  OF  RABBA. 


Which  is  in  the  Gemara  of  the  Berachoth  of  Babylon.  . .  .  Con 
cerning  the  interpretation  of  dreams,  it  hath  been  said  by  Rabbi 
Benaa :  "  There  were  in  Jerusalem  twenty-four  interpreters  of 
dreams ;  and  I,  having  dreamed  a  dream,  did  ask  the  explana 
tion  thereof  from  each  of  the  twenty-four ;  and,  notwithstanding 
that  each  gave  me  a  different  interpretation,  the  words  of  all  were 
fulfilled,  even  in  conformity  with  the  saying:  'All  dreams  are 
accomplished  according  to  the  interpretation  thereof.' ". .  .  We  are 
Thine,  0  King  of  all;  Thine  also  are  our  dreams.  .  .  . 

MIGHTY  was  the  knowledge  of  the  great  Rabba, 
to  whom  the  mysteries  of  the  Book  Yetzirah  were 
known  in  such  wise,  that,  being  desirous  once  to 
try  his  brother,  Rabbi  Zira,  he  did  create  out  of 
dust  a  living  man,  and  sent  the  man  to  Zira  with 
a  message  in  writing.  But  inasmuch  as  the 
man  had  not  been  born  of  woman,  nor  had  had 
breathed  into  him  God's  holy  spirit  of  life,  he 
could  not  speak.  Therefore,  when  Rabbi  Zira 


192  A  Legend  of  Rabba. 

had  spoken  to  him  and  observed  that  he  did  not 
reply,  the  Rabbi  whispered  into  his  ear:  "  Thou 
wert  begotten  by  witchcraft ;  return  to  thy  form 
of  dust ! "  And  the  man  crumbled  before  his 
sight  into  shapelessness ;  and  the  wind  bore  the 
shapelessness  away,  as  smoke  is  dissipated  by  a 
breath  of  storm.  But  Eabbi  Zira  marvelled  greatly 
at  the  power  of  the  great  Rabba. 

Not  so  wise,  nevertheless,  was  Rabba  as  was 
Bar-Hedia  in  the  interpretation  of  dreams ;  and 
Bar-Hedia  was  consulted  by  the  multitudes  in 
those  parts.  But  he  interpreted  unto  them  good 
or  evil  only  as  they  paid  him  or  did  not  pay  him. 
According  to  many  Rabbonim,  to  dream  of  a  well 
signifleth  peace ;  to  dream  of  a  camel,  the  pardon 
of  iniquities ;  to  dream  of  goats,  a  year  of  fertil 
ity  ;  to  dream  of  any  living  creature,  save  only 
the  monkey  and  the  elephant,  is  good  ;  and  these 
also  are  good  if  they  appear  harnessed  or  bound. 
But  Bar-Hedia  interpreted  such  good  omens  in 
the  contrary  wa}T,  unless  well  paid  by  the  dreamer  ; 
and  it  was  thought  passing  strange  that  the  evils 
which  he  predicted  never  failed  of  accomplish 
ment. 

* 
*  * 

Now  one  day  the  Rabbonim  Abayi  and  Rabba 
went  to  consult  Bar-Hedia  the  interpreter,  seeing 


A  Legend  of  Rabba.  193 

that  they  had  both  dreamed  the  same  dream. 
Abayi  paid  him  one  zouz,  but  Rabba  paid  him 
nothing. 

And  they  asked  Bar-Hedia,  both  together  say 
ing:  "Interpret  unto  us  this  dream  which  we 
have  dreamed.  Sleeping,  it  seemed  to  us  that  we 
beheld  a  scroll  unrolled  under  a  great  light,  and 
we  did  both  read  therein  these  words,  which  are 
in  the  fifth  book  of  Moses:  "  Thine  ox  shall 
be  slain  before  thine  eyes,  and  thou  shalt  not  eat 
thereof.  .  .  .  Thy  sons  and  thy  daughters  shall 
be  given  unto  another  people.  .  .  .  Thou  shalt 
carry  much  seed  out  into  the  field,  and  shalt 
gather  but  little  in."  .  .  . 

Then  Bar-Hedia,  the  interpreter,  said  to  Abayi 
who  had  paid  him  one  zouz :  "For  thee  this 
dream  bodeth  good.  The  verse  concerning  the 
ox  signifies  thou  wilt  prosper  so  wondrously  that 
for  very  joy  thou  shalt  be  unable  to  eat.  Thy 
sons  and  daughters  shall  be  married  in  other 
lands,  so  that  thou  wilt  be  separated  from  them 
without  grief,  knowing  them  to  be  virtuous  and 
content. 

"  But  for  thee,  Rabba,  who  didst  pay  me  noth 
ing,  this  dream  portendeth  evil.  Thou  shalt  be 
afflicted  in  such  wise  that  for  grief  thou  canst  not 
eat ;  thy  daughters  and  sons  shall  be  led  into  cap- 
18 


194  A  Legend  of  Rabba. 

tivity.  Abayi  shall  carry  out  much  seed  into  the 
field;  but  the  second  part  of  the  verse,  Thou 
shalt  gather  but  little,  refers  to  thee." 

Then  they  asked  him  again,  saying:  "But  in 
our  dream  we  also  read  these  verses,  thus  dis 
posed:  Thou  shalt  have  olive  trees,  and  thou 
shalt  not  anoint  thyself  with  oil.  .  .  .  All  the  peo 
ple  of  the  earth  shall  see  that  thou  art  called  by 
the  name  of  the  Lord,  and  they  shall  be  afraid 
of  thee." 

Then  said  Bar-Hedia  :  "  For  thee,  Rabbi  Abayi, 
the  words  signify  that  thou  shalt  be  prosperous 
and  much  honored  ;  but  for  thee,  Rabba,  who 
didst  pay  me  nothing,  they  portend  evil  only. 
Thou  shalt  have  no  profit  in  thy  labor ;  thou 
shalt  be  falsely  accused,  and  by  reason  of  the 
accusation,  avoided  as  one  guilty  of  crime." 

Still  Rabba,  speaking  now  for  himself  alone, 
continued:  "But  I  dreamed  also  that  I  beheld 
the  exterior  door  of  my  dwelling  fall  down,  and 
that  my  teeth  fell  out  of  my  mouth.  And  I 
dreamed  that  I  saw  two  doves  fly  away,  and  two 
radishes  growing  at  my  feet." 

Again  Bar-Hedia  answered,  saying  :  "  For  thee, 
Rabba,  who  didst  pay  me  nothing,  these  things 
signify  evil.  The  falling  of  thine  outer  door  au 
gurs  the  death  of  thy  wife  ;  the  loss  of  thy  teeth 


A  Legend  of  Rabba.  195 

signifies  that  thy  sons  and  daughters  shall  like 
wise  die  in  their  youth.  The  flight  of  the  doves 
means  that  thou  shalt  be  divorced  from  two  other 
wives,  and  the  two  radishes  of  thy  dream  fore 
tell  that  thou  wilt  receive  two  blows  which  thou 
mayest  not  return." 

And  all  things  thus  foretold  lay  Bar-Hedia  came 
to  pass.  So  that  Rabba's  wife  died,  and  that  he 
was  arrested  upon  suspicion  of  having  robbed  the 
treasury  of  the  king,  and  that  the  people  shunned 
him  as  one  guilty.  Also  while  seeking  to  sepa 
rate  two  men  fighting,  who  were  blind,  thcjr  struck 
him  twice  unknowingly,  so  that  he  could  not  re 
sent  it.  And  misfortunes  came  to  Rabba  even  as 
to  Job ;  yet  he  could  resign  himself  to  all  save 
only  the  death  of  his  young  wife,  the  daughter  of 

Eabbi  Hisda. . 

* 
*  * 

At  last  Rabba  paid  a  great  sum  to  Bar-Hedia, 
and  told  him  of  divers  awful  dreams  which  he  had 
had.  This  time  Bar-Hedia  predicted  happiness 
for  him,  and  riches,  and  honors,  all  of  which  came 
to  pass  according  to  the  words  of  the  interpreter, 
whereat  Rabba  marvelled  exceedingly. 

Now  it  happened  while  Rabba  and  Bar-Hedia 
were  voyaging  one  day  together,  that  Bar-Hedia 
let  fall  his  magical  book,  by  whose  aid  he  uttered 


196  A  Legend  of  Rabba. 

all  his  interpretations  of  dreams ;  and  Rabba, 
hastily  picking  it  up,  perceived  these  words  in 
the  beginning :  All  dreams  shall  be  fulfilled  ac 
cording  to  the  interpretation  of  the  interpreter. 
So  that  Rabba,  discovering  the  wicked  witchcraft 
of  the  man,  cursed  him,  sajdng :  "_R«ca/  for  all 
else  could  I  forgive  thee,  save  for  the  death  of  my 
beloved  wife,  the  daughter  of  Rabbi  Hisda !  O 
thou  impious  magician !  take  thou  my  maledic 
tion  !  "  .  .  . 

Thereupon  Bar-Hedia,  terrified,  went  into  vol 
untary  exile  among  the  Romans,  vainly  hoping 
thus  to  expiate  his  sin,  and  flee  from  the  consum 
ing  power  of  Rabba's  malediction. 

* 
*  * 

Thus  coming  to  Rome,  he  interpreted  dreams 
daily  before  the  gate  of  the  king's  treasury  ;  and 
he  did  much  evil,  as  he  was  wont  to  do  before. 
One  day  the  king's  treasurer  came  to  him,  saying : 
"  I  dreamed  a  dream  in  which  it  seemed  to  me 
that  a  needle  had  entered  my  finger.  Interpret 
me  this  dream." 

But  Bar-Hedia  said  only,  "  Give  me  a  zouz  !  " 
And  because  he  would  not  give  it,  Bar-Hedia  told 
him  nothing. 

And  another  day  the  treasurer  came,  saying : 
"  I  dreamed  a  dream  in  which  it  seemed  that 


A  Legend  of  Rabba.  197 

worms  devoured  two  of  my  fingers.     Interpret 
me  this  dream." 

But  Bar-Hedia  said  only,  "  Give  me  a  zouz  ! '" 
And  because  he  would  not  give  it,  Bar-Hedia  told 
him  nothing. 

Yet  the  third  time  the  treasurer  came,  saying : 
"  I  dreamed  a  dream  in  which  it  seemed  to  me  that 
worms  devoured  my  whole  right  hand.  Interpret 
me  this  dream." 

Then  Bar-Hedia  mocked  him,  saying:  "Go, 
look  thou  at  the  king's  stores  of  silk  intrusted  to 
thy  keeping ;  for  worms  have  by  this  time  de 
stroyed  them  utterly.".  .  .  And  it  was  even  as 
Bar-Hedia  said. 

Thereupon  the  king  waxed  wroth,  and  ordered 
the  decapitation  of  the  treasurer.  But  he,  pro 
testing,  said:  "Wherefore  slay  only  me,  since 
the  Jew  that  was  first  aware  of  the  presence  of 
the  worms,  said  nothing  concerning  it?" 

So  they  brought  in  Bar-Hedia,  and  questioned 
him.  But  he  mocked  the  treasurer,  and  said : 
' '  It  was  because  thou  wast  too  avaricious  to 
pay  me  one  zouz  that  the  king's  silk  hath  been 
destroyed." 

Whereupon  the  Romans,  being  filled  with  fury, 
bent  down  the  tops  of  two  young  cedar  trees, 
one  toward  the  other,  and  fastened  them  so 


198  The  Mockers. 

with  a  rope.  And  they  bound  Bar-Hedia's  right 
leg  to  one  tree-top,  and  his  left  leg  to  the  other ; 
and  thereafter  severed  the  rope  suddenly  with  a 
sword.  And  the  two  cedars,  as  suddenly  leaping 
back  to  their  natural  positions,  tore  asunder  the 
body  of  Bar-Hedia  into  equal  parts,  so  that  his 
entrails  were  spilled  out,  and  even  his  skull, 
splitting  into  halves,  emptied  of  its  brain. 

For  the  malediction  of  the  great  Rabba  was 
upon  him. 


THE  MOCKERS. 

.  .  .  A  tradition  of  Rabbi  Simon  ben  Yochai,  which  is  preserved 
within  the  Treatise  Sheviith  of  the  TALMUD  YERUSHALMI.  .  .  . 
Is  it  not  said  in  the  Sanhedrin  that  there  are  four  classes  who  do 
not  enter  into  the  presence  of  the  Holy  One  ?  —  blessed  be  He  !  — 
and  among  these  four  are  scorners  reckoned.  .  . . 

CONCERNING  Rabbi  Simon  ben  Yochai  many 
marvellous  things  are  narrated,  both  in  that  Tal 
mud  which  is  of  Babylon  and  in  that  which  is  of 
Jerusalem.  And  of  these  things  none  are  more 
wonderful  than  the  tradition  regarding  the  fashion 
after  which  he  was  wont  to  rebuke  the  impudence 
of  mockers. 

It  was  this  same  Rabbi  Simon  ben  Yochai,  who 


The  Mockers.  199 

was  persecuted  by  the  Romans,  because  he  had 
made  little  of  their  mighty  works,  saying  that 
they  had  constructed  roads  only  to  move  their 
wicked  armies  more  rapidly,  that  they  had  builded 
bridges  only  to  collect  tolls,  that  they  had  erected 
aqueducts  and  baths  for  their  own  pleasure  only, 
and  had  established  markets  for  no  other  end  than 
the  sustenance  of  iniquity.  For  these  words  Rabb 
Simon  was  condemned  to  die ;  wherefore  he,  to 
gether  with  his  holy  son,  fled  away,  and  they  hid 
themselves  in  a  cave.  Therein  they  dwelt  for 
twelve  long  years,  so  that  their  garments  would 
have  crumbled  into  dust  had  they  not  laid  them 
aside  saving  only  at  the  time  of  prayer  ;  and  the}71 
buried  themselves  up  to  their  necks  in  the  sand 
during  their  hours  of  slumber  and  of  meditation. 
But  within  the  cave  the  Lord  created  for  them  a 
heavenly  carob-tree,  which  daily  bore  fruit  for 
their  nourishment ;  and  the  Holy  One  —  blessed 
be  He  !  —  also  created  unending  summer  within 
the  cave,  lest  they  should  be  afflicted  by  cold. 
So  they  remained  until  the  Prophet  Elijah  de 
scended  from  heaven  to  tell  them  that  the  Em 
peror  of  the  Romans  had  died  the  death  of  the 
idolatrous,  and  that  there  remained  for  them  no 
peril  in  the  world.  But  during  those  many  years 
of  meditation,  the  holiness  of  the  Rabbi  and  of 


200  The  Mockers. 

his  son  had  become  as  the  holiness  of  those  who 
stand  with  faces  wing- veiled  about  the  throne  of 
God ;  and  the  world  had  become  unfitted  for  their 
sojourn.  Coming  forth  from  the  cave,  therefore, 
a  fierce  anger  filled  them  at  the  sight  of  men 
ploughing  and  reaping  in  the  fields ;  and  they 
cried  out  against  them,  saying  :  "  Lo !  these  peo 
ple  think  only  of  the  things  of  earth,  and  neglect 
the  things  of  eternitj'." 

Then  were  the  lands  and  the  people  toiling 
thereupon  utterly  consumed  by  the  fire  of  their 
eyes,  even  as  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  blasted 
from  the  face  of  the  earth.  But  the  Bath-Kol  — 
the  Voice  of  the  Hoi}'  One  —  rebuked  them  from 
heaven,  saying :  "  What !  have  ye  come  forth  only 
to  destroy  this  world  which  I  have  made  ?  Get 
ye  back  within  the  cavern  !  "  And  they  returned 
into  the  cave  for  another  twelve  months,  —  mak 
ing  in  all  thirteen  years  of  sojourn  therein,  — until 
the  Bath-Kol  spake  again,  and  uttered  their  par 
don,  and  bade  them  return  into  the  world.  All 
of  which  is  written  in  the  Treatise  Shabbath  of 

Seder  Moed  of  the  Talmud  Babli. 

* 
*  # 

Now  in  the  Talmud  Yerushalmi  we  are  told 
that  after  Rabbi  Simon  ben  Yochai  had  departed 
from  the  cave,  he  resolved  to  purify  all  the  land 


The  Mockers.  201 

of  Tiberias.  For  while  within  the  cave,  his  body 
had  become  sore  smitten  with  ulcers,  and  the 
waters  of  Tiberias  had  healed  them.  Even  as  he 
had  found  purification  in  Tiberias,  so  also,  he 
declared,  should  Tiberias  find  in  him  purification. 
And  these  things  he  said  within  the  hearing  of 
mockers,  who  feared  his  eyes,  yet  who  among 
themselves  laughed  him  to  scorn. 

But  Eabbi  Simon  sat  down  before  the  city  of 
Tiberias,  and  he  took  lupines,  and  cut  up  the 
lupines  into  atoms,  and  uttered  over  them  words 
whereof  no  living  man  save  himself  knew  the  in 
terpretation.  (For  the  meaning  of  such  words  is 
seldom  known  by  men,  seeing  that  but  few  are 
known  even  by  the  Angels  and  the  Demons.) 
Having  done  these  things,  the  Rabbi  arose  and 
walked  over  the  land,  scattering  the  lupines  about 
him  as  a  sower  scatters  seed.  And  wherever  the 
lupines  fell,  the  bones  of  the  dead  arose  from  be 
low  and  came  to  the  surface  of  the  ground,  so 
that  the  people  could  take  them  away  and  bury 
them  in  a 'proper  place.  Thus  was  the  ground 
purified,  not  only  of  the  bones  of  the  idolaters 
and  the  giants  who  erst  dwelt  in  the  place  of 
promise,  but  likewise  of  the  bones  of  all  animals 
and  living  beings  which  had  there  died  since  tho 
coming  of  Israel. 


202  The  Mockers. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  wicked  doubter,  a 
Samaritan,  who,  desiring  to  bring  confusion  to 
Eabbi  Simon  ben  Yochai,  secretly  buried  an  un 
clean  corpse  in  a  place  already  purified.  And 
the  Samaritan  came  cunningly  to  Rabbi  Simon, 
saying:  "  Methought  thou  didst  purify  such  a 
spot  in  my  field ;  yet  is  there  an  unclean  body 
there,  —  the  body  of  a  man.  Surely  thy  wisdom 
hath  failed  thee,  or  ma3*hap  thy  magic  hath  some 
defect  in  it  ?  Come  thou  with  me  !  "  So  he  took 
with  him  Rabbi  Simon,  and  dug  up  the  ground, 
and  showed  to  him  the  unclean  corpse,  and  laughed 
in  his  beard. 

But  Rabbi  Simon,  knowing  by  divine  inspira 
tion  what  had  been  done,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
wicked  face  of  the  man,  and  said :  "  Verily,  such 
a  one  as  thou  deserveth  not  to  dwell  among  the 
living,  but  rather  to  exchange  places  with  the 
dead  !  "  And  no  sooner  had  the  words  been  ut 
tered  than  the  booty  of  the  dead  man  arose,  and 
his  flesh  became  pure,  and  the  life  returned  to  his 
eyes  and  his  heart ;  while  the  wicked  Samaritan 
became  a  filthy  corpse,  so  that  the  worms  came 
from  his  nostrils  and  his  ears. 

Yet,  as  he  went  upon  his  waj*,  Rabbi  Simon 
passed  an  inhabited  tower  without  the  city ;  and 
a  voice  from  the  upper  chamber  of  the  tower 


Esthers  Choice.  203 

mocked  him,  crying  aloud :  "  Hither  comcth  that 
Bar-Yochai,  who  thinketh  himself  able  to  purify 
Tiberias  !  "  Now  the  mocker  was  himself  a  most 
learned  man. 

"  I  swear  unto  thee,"  answered  Rabbi  Simon,  — 
"  I  swear  unto  thee  that  Tiberias  shall  be  made 
pure  in  spite  of  such  as  thou,  and  their  mock- 
ings." 

And  even  as  the  holy  Rabbi  spoke,  the  mocker 
who  stood  within  the  chamber  of  the  tower  utterly 
crumbled  into  a  heap  of  bones ;  and  from  the 
bones  a  writhing  smoke  ascended, —  the  smoke 
of  the  wrath  of  the  Lord,  as  it  is  written: 
anger  of  the  Lord  shall  smoke!".  .  . 


ESTHER'S   CHOICE. 

A  story  of  Rabbi  Simon  ben  Ybchai,  which  is  related  in  the 
holy  Midrash  Shir-Hasirim  of  the  holy  Midrashim.  .  . .  Hear, 
0  Israel,  the  Lord  our  God  is  ONE  /  . .  . 

IN  those  days  there  lived  in  Sidon,  the  mighty 
city,  a  certain  holy  Israelite  possessing  much 
wealth,  and  having  the  esteem  of  all  who  knew 
him,  even  among  the  Gentiles.  In  all  Sidon  there 
was  no  man  who  had  so  beautiful  a  wife  ;  for  the 


204  Esther's  Choice. 

comeliness  of  her  seemed  like  that  of  Sarah,  whose 
loveliness  illumined  all  the  land  of  Egypt. 

Yet  for  this  rich  one  there  was  no  happiness : 
the  cry  of  the  nursling  had  never  been  heard  in 
his  home,  the  sound  of  a  child's  voice  had  never 
made  sunshine  within  his  heart.  And  he  heard 
voices  of  reproach  betimes,  saying :  "  Do  not  the 
Eabbis  teach  that  if  a  man  have  lived  ten  years 
with  his  wife  and  have  no  issue,  then  he  should 
divorce  her,  giving  her  the  marriage  portion  pre 
scribed  by  law  ;  for  he  may  not  have  been  found 
worthy  to  have  his  race  perpetuated  by  her  ?  "  .  .  . 
But  there  were  others  who  spake  reproach  of 
the  wife,  believing  that  her  beauty  had  made  her 
proud,  and  that  her  reproach  was  but  the  punish 
ment  of  vainglory. 

And  at  last,  one  morning,  Rabbi  Simon  ben 
Yochai  was  aware  of  two  visitors  within  the  ante 
chamber  of  his  dwelling,  the  richest  merchant  of 
Sidon  and  his  wife,  greeting  the  holy  man  with 
Salem  aleikoum!  The  Rabbi  looked  not  upon 
the  woman's  face,  for  to  gaze  even  upon  the  heel 
of  a  woman  is  forbidden  to  holy  men  ;  yet  he  felt 
the  sweetness  of  her  presence  pervading  all  the 
house  like  the  incense  of  the  flowers  woven  by 
the  hands  of  the  Angel  of  Prayer.  And  the  Rabbi 
knew  that  she  was  weeping. 


Esther's  Choice.  205 

Then  the  husband  arose  and  spake  :  "  Lo !  it  is 
now  more  than  a  time  of  ten  years  since  I  was 
wedded  to  Esther,  I  being  then  twenty  years  of 
age,  and  desirous  to  obey  the  teaching  that  he 
who  remaineth  unmarried  after  twent}7  transgres- 
seth  daily  against  God.  Esther,  thou  knowest, 
O  Rabbi,  was  the  sweetest  maiden  in  Sidon ;  and 
to  me  she  hath  ever  been  a  most  loving  and  sweet 
wife,  so  that  I  could  find  no  fault  with  her; 
neither  is  there  an}r  guile  in  her  heart. 

"  I  have  since  then  become  a  rich  Israelite  ;  the 
men  of  Tyre  know  me,  and  the  merchants  of  Car 
thage  swear  by  my  name.  I  have  many  ships, 
bearing  me  ivoiy  and  gold  of  Ophir  and  jewels  of 
great  worth  from  the  East;  I  have  vases  of  onyx 
and  cups  of  emeralds  curiously  wrought,  and 
chariots  and  horses,  —  even  so  that  no  prince 
hath  more  than  I.  And  this  I  owe  to  the  bless 
ing  of  the  Holy  One,  — blessed  be  He  !  — and  to 
Esther,  my  wife,  also,  who  is  a  wise  and  valiant 
woman,  and  cunning  in  advising. 

"  Yet,  O  Rabbi,  gladly  would  I  have  given  all 
my  riches  that  I  might  obtain  one  son  !  that  I  might 
be  known  as  a  father  in  Israel.  The  Holy  One  — 
blessed  be  He !  —  hath  not  vouchsafed  me  this 
thing ;  so  that  I  have  thought  me  found  unworthy 
to  have  children  by  so  fair  and  good  a  woman. 


206  Esthers  Choice. 

I  pray  thee,  therefore,  that  thou  wilt  give  legal 
enactment  to  a  bill  of  separation  ;  for  I  have  re 
solved  to  giye  Esther  a  bill  of  divorcement,  and  a 
goodly  marriage  portion  also,  that  the  reproach 
may  so  depart  from  us  in  the  sight  of  Israel." 
* 

And  Rabbi  Simon  ben  Yochai  stroked  thought 
fully  the  dim  silver  of  his  beard.  A  silence  as 
of  the  Shechinah  fell  upon  the  three.  Faintly, 
from  afar,  came  floating  to  their  ears  the  sea- 
like  murmuring  of  Sidon's  commerce.  .  .  .  Then 
spake  the  Rabbi ;  and  Esther,  looking  at  him, 
thought  that  his  eyes  smiled,  although  this  holy 
man  was  never  seen  to  smile  with  his  lips.  Yet 
it  may  be  that  his  eyes  smiled,  seeing  into  their 
hearts  :  "  My  son,  it  would  be  a  scandal  in  Israel 
to  do  as  thou  dost  purpose,  hastily  and  without 
becoming  announcement ;  for  men  might  imagine 
that  Esther  had  not  been  a  good  wife,  or  thou  a 
too  exacting  husband!  It  is  not  lawful  to  give 
cause  for  scorn.  Therefore  go  to  thy  home,  make 
ready  a  goodly  feast,  and  invite  thither  all  thy 
friends  and  the  friends  of  thy  wife,  and  those 
who  were  present  at  thy  wedding,  and  speak  to 
them  as  a  good  man  to  good  men,  and  let  them 
understand  wherefore  thou  dost  this  thing,  and 
that  in  Esther  there  is  no  fault.  Then  return 


Esther's  Choice.  207 

to  me  on  the  morrow,  and  I  will  grant  thee  the 
bill." 


* 
*  * 


So  a  great  feast  was  given,  and  many  guests 
came  ;  among  them,  all  who  had  attended  the  wed 
ding  of  Esther,  save,  indeed,  such  as  Azrael  had 
led  away  by  the  hand.  There  was  much  good 
wine ;  the  meats  smoked  upon  platters  of  gold, 
and  cups  of  onyx  were  placed  at  the  elbow  of  each 
guest.  And  the  husband  spake  lovingly  to  his 
wife  in  the  presence  of  all,  fea}Ting:  "  Esther,  we 
have  lived  together  lovingly  many  years ;  and  if 
we  must  now  separate,  thou  knowest  it  is  not  be 
cause  I  do  not  love  thee,  but  only  because  it  hath 
not  pleased  the  Most  Holy  to  bless  us  with  chil 
dren.  And  in  token  that  I  love  thee  and  wish 
thee  all  good,  know  that  I  desire  thee  to  take 
away  from  my  house  whatever  thou  desirest, 

whether  it  be  gold  or  jewels  beyond  price." 

* 
*  * 

So  the  wine  went  round,  and  the  night  passed 
in  mirth  and  song,  until  the  heads  of  the  guests 
grew  strangely  heav}^,  and  there  came  a  buzzing 
in  their  eai-s  as  of  innumerable  bees,  and  their 
beards  ceased  to  wag  with  laughter,  and  a  deep 
sleep  fell  upon  them. 

Then   Esther  summoned  her  handmaids,  and 


208  Esthers  Choice. 

said  to  them  :  '•  Behold  m}T  husband  sleeps  heav 
ily  !  I  go  to  the  house  of  my  father ;  bear  him 
thither  also  as  he  sleepeth." 

* 
*  * 

And  awaking  in  the  morning  the  husband 
found  himself  in  a  strange  chamber  and  in  a 
strange  house.  But  the  sweetness  of  a  woman's 
presence,  and  the  ivory  fingers  that  caressed  his 
beard,  and  the  softness  of  the  knees  that  pillowed 
his  head,  and  the  glory  of  the  dark  eyes  that 
looked  into  his  own  Awakening,  —  these  were  not 
strange ;  for  he  knew  that  his  head  was  resting 
in  the  lap  of  Esther.  And  bewildered  with  the 
grief-born  dreams  of  the  night,  he  cried  out, 
"Woman,  what  hast  thou  done?" 

Then,  sweeter  than  the  voice  of  doves  among 
the  fig-trees,  came  the  voice  of  Esther:  "Didst 
thou  not  bid  me,  husband,  that  I  should  choose 
and  take  away  from  thy  house  whatsoever  I  most 
desired  ?  And  I  have  chosen  thee,  and  have  brought 
thee  hither,  to  my  father's  home,  .  .  .  loving  thee 
more  than  all  else  in  the  world.  Wilt  thou  drive 
me  from  thee  now  ?  "  And  he  could  not  see  her 
face  for  tears  of  love ;  }-et  he  heard  her  voice 
speaking  on,  —  speaking  the  golden  words  of 
Ruth,  which  are  so  old  yet  so  young  to  the  hearts 
of  all  that  love  :  "  Whithersoever  thou  shalt  go,l 


Esther's  Clioice.  209 

will  also  go  ;  and  whithersoever  thou  shalt  dwell, 
I  also  will  dwell.  And  the  Angel  of  Death  only 
may  part  us  ;  for  thou  art  all  in  all  to  me.".  .  . 

And  in  the  golden  sunlight  at  the  doorway 
suddenly  stood,  like  a  statue  of  Babylonian  sil 
ver,  the  grand  gray  figure  of  Rabbi  Simon  ben 
Yochai,  lifting  his  hands  in  benediction. 

" Schmah  Israel!  —  the  Lord  our  God,  who 
is  One,  bless  ye  with  everlasting  benediction ! 
May  your  hearts  be  welded  by  love,  as  gold  with 
gold  by  the  cunning  of  goldsmiths !  May  the 
Lord,  who  coupleth  and  setteth  the  single  in 
families,  watch  over  ye !  The  Lord  make  this 
valiant  woman  even  as  Rachel  and  as  Lia,  who 
built  up  the  house  of  Israel !  And  ye  shall  be 
hold  your  children  and  your  children's  children 
in  the  House  of  the  Lord ! " 

Even  so  the  Lord  blessed  them ;  and  Esther 
became  as  the  fruitful  vine,  and  they  saw  their 
children's  children  in  Israel.  Forasmuch  as  it 
is  written :  ' '  He  will  regard  the  prayer  of  the 
destitute." 


14 


210         The  Dispute  in  the  Halacha. 


THE  DISPUTE  IN  THE  HALACHA. 

. . .  Told  of  in  the  Book  BAVA-METZIA  ;  or,  "The  Middle  Gate  " 
of  the  Holy  Shas.  .  .  .  The  Lord  loveth  the  gates  that  are  marked 
with  the  Halacha  more  than  the  synagogues  and  the  schools. 

Now,  in  those  days  there  was  a  dispute  be 
tween  the  Mishnic  Doctors  and  Rabbi  Eliezer 
concerning  the  legal  cleanliness  of  a  certain 
bake-oven,  as  is  written  in  the  Bava-Metzia  of 
the  Talmud.  For  while  all  the  others  held  the 
oven  to  be  unclean  according  to  the  Halacha, 
Rabbi  Eliezer  declared  that  it  was  clean ;  and 
all  their  arguments  he  overthrew,  and  all  their 
objections  he  confuted,  although  they  would  not 
suffer  themselves  to  be  convinced.  Then  did 
Rabbi  Eliezer  at  last  summon  a  carob-tree  to 
bear  witness  to  his  interpretation  of  the  law ;  and 
the  carob-tree  uprooted  itself,  and  rose  in  air  with 
the  clay  trickling  from  its  roots,  and  moved 
through  air  to  the  distance  of  four  hundred  yards, 
and  replanted  itself,  trembling,  in  the  soil. 

But  the  Doctors  of  the  Mishna,  being  used  to 
marvellous  things,  were  little  moved ;  and  they 
said:  "We  may  not  admit  the  testimony  of  a 
carob-tree.  Shall  a  carob-tree  discourse  to  us 


The  Dispute  in  the  Halacha.         211 

regarding  the  Halacha  ?  Will  a  carob-tree  teach 
us  the  law  ?  " 

Then  said  Rabbi  Eliezer  to  the  brook  that  mut 
tered  its  unceasing  pra}Ter  without:  "Bear  me 
witness,  O  thou  running  water !  "  And  the  rivu 
let  changed  the  course  of  its  current ;  its  waters 
receded,  and,  flowing  back  to  their  fountain-head, 
left  naked  the  pebbles  of  their  bed  to  dry  under 
the  sun. 

But  the  Disciples  of  the  Sages  still  held  to  their 
first  opinion,  saying :  "Shall  a  brook  prattle  to 
us  of  law  ?  Shall  we  heai-ken  to  the  voice  of  run 
ning  water  rather  than  to  the  voice  of  the  Holy 
One  —  blessed  be  He  !  —  and  of  His  servant 
Moses?" 

Then  Rabbi  Eliezer,  lifting  his  eyes  toward  the 
walls  above,  bearing  holy  words  written  upon 
them,  cried  out:  "Yet  bear  me  witness  also, 
ye  consecrated  walls,  that  I  have  decided  aright 
in  this  matter !  "  And  the  walls  quivered,  bent 
inward,  curved  like  a  bellying  sail  in  the  moment 
of  a  changing  wind,  impended  above  the  hands  of 
ihe  Rabbis,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  Rabbi 
Joshuah  rebuked  them,  saying:  "What  is  it  to 
you  if  the  Rabbis  do  wrangle  in  the  Halacha? 
Would  3'e  crush  us?  Be  ye  still ! "  So  the  walls, 
obeying  Rabbi  Joshuah,  would  not  fall ;  but 


212         The  Dispute  in  the  Halacha. 

neither  would  they  return  to  their  former  place, 
forasmuch  as  they  obeyed  Rabbi  Eliezer  also,  — 
so  that  they  remain  toppling  even  unto  this  clay. 

Then,  seeing  that  their  hearts  were  hardened 
against  him  even  more  than  the  stones  of  the 
building,  Rabbi  Eliezer  cried  out:  "Let  the  Bath- 
Kol  decide  between  us!"  Whereupon  the  college 
shook  to  its  foundation ;  and  a  Voice  from  heaven 
answered,  saj'ing:  "What  have  ye  to  do  with 
Rabbi  Eliezer?  for  in  all  things  the  Halacha  is 
even  according  to  his  decision !  " 

But  Rabbi  Joshuah  stood  upon  his  feet  fearlessly 
in  the  midst,  and  said  :  "  It  is  not  lawful  that  even 
a  Voice  from  heaven  should  be  regarded  by  us. 
For  Thou,  O  God,  didst  long  ago  write  down  in 
the  law  which  Thou  gavest  upon  Sinai,  saying, 
'  Thou  shalt  follow  the  multitude.'  "  And  they 
would  not  hearken  unto  Rabbi  Eliezer ;  but  they 
did  excommunicate  him,  and  did  commit  all  his 
decisions  regarding  the  law  to  be  consumed  with 
fire. 

[Now  some  have  it  that  Rabbi  Nathan  testified 
that  the  Prophet  Elijah  declared  unto  him  that 
God  Himself  was  deceived  in  this  matter,  and  ac 
knowledged  error  in  His  decision,  saying:  "  Mjr 
children  have  vanquished  me !  my  children  have 
prevailed  against  me ! "  But  as  we  also  know 


The  Dispute  in  the  Halacha.         213 

that  in  punishment  for  the  excommunication  of 
Rabbi  Eliezer  a  third  portion  of  all  the  barley 
and  of  the  olives  and  of  the  wheat  in  the  whole 
world  was  smitten  with  blight,  we  may  well  be 
lieve  that  Rabbi  Eliezer  was  not  in  error.] 

* 
*  * 

Now,  while  yet  under  sentence  of  excommuni 
cation,  Rabbi  Eliezer  fell  grievously  ill ;  and  the 
Rabbonim  knew  nothing  of  it.  Yet  such  was  his 
learning,  that  Rabbi  Akiva  and  all  the  disciples 
of  the  latter  came  unto  him  to  seek  instruction. 
.  .  .  Then  Rabbi  Eliezer,  rising  upon  his  elbow, 
asked  them,  "Wherefore  came  ye  hither?  " 

"  We  came  that  we  might  learn  the  Halacha," 
answered  Akiva. 

' '  But  wherefore  came  ye  not  sooner  ?  " 

And  they  answered,  "Because  we  had  not 
time." 

Then  Rabbi  Eliezer,  feeling  wroth  at  the  reply, 
said  to  them  also:  "Verily,  if  ye  die  a  natural 
death,  I  shall  marvel  greatly.  And  as  for  thee, 
Akiva,  thy  death  shall  be  the  worst  of  all !  It  is 
well  for  thee  that  I  do  not  give  thee  my  maledic 
tion,  seeing  thou  hast  dared  to  say  that  one  may 
not  have  time  to  learn  the  law  !  " 

And  Rabbi  Eliezer,  folding  his  arms  upon  his 
breast  to  die,  continued :  "  Woe !  woe  is  me ! 


214         The  Dispute  in  the  Halacha. 

woe  unto  these  two  arms  of  mine,  that  they  are 
now  even  as  two  scrolls  of  the  law  rolled  up, 
whereof  the  contents  are  hidden !  Had  ye  waited 
upon  me  before,  }:e  might  have  learned  many 
strange  things ;  and  now  my  knowledge  must 
perish  with  me  !  Much  have  I  learned,  and  much 
have  I  taught,  yet  alwa}Ts  without  diminishing  the 
knowledge  of  my  Rabbis  by  even  so  much  as 
the  waters  of  the  ocean  might  be  diminished  by 
the  lapping  of  a  dog !  ".  .  . 

And  he  continued  to  speak  to  them:  "Now, 
over  and  above  all  those  things,  I  did  expound 
three  thousand  Halachoth  in  regard  to  the  grow 
ing  of  Egyptian  cucumbers ;  and  yet  none  save 
only  Rabbi  Akiva  ben  Joseph  ever  asked  me  so 
much  as  one  question  regarding  them  !  .  .  .  We 
were  walking  on  the  road  between  the  fields,  when 
he  asked  me  to  instruct  him  regarding  Egyptian 
cucumbers.  Then  I  uttered  but  one  word ;  and, 
behold !  the  fields  forthwith  became  full  of  Egyp 
tian  cucumbers.  He  asked  me  concerning  the 
gathering  of  them.  I  uttered  but  one  word  ;  and, 
lo  !  all  the  cucumbers  did  gather  themselves  into 
one  place  before  me.".  .  . 

And  even  as  Rabbi  Eliezer  was  thus  speaking, 
his  soul  departed  from  him  ;  and  Rabbi  Akiva 
with  all  his  disciples  mourned  bitterly  for  him 


The  Dispute  in  the  Halacha.         215 

and  for  themselves,  seeing  they  had  indeed  come 

too  late  to  learn  the  law. 

* 
*  * 

But  the  prediction  of  Rabbi  Eliezer  was  ful 
filled.  .  .  .  For  it  came  to  pass,  when  Rabbi 
Akiva  had  become  a  most  holy  man,  and  mar 
vellously  learned,  that  the  Romans  forbade  the 
teaching  of  the  law  in  Israel ;  and  Rabbi  Akiva 
persisted  in  teaching  it  publicly  to  the  people, 
saying :  "  If  we  suffer  so  much  by  the  will  of  the 
Hoi}-  One  —  blessed  be  He  !  —  while  studying  the 
law,  how  much  indeed  shall  we  suffer  while  neg 
lecting  it ! " 

So  they  led  him  out  to  execution,  and  tortured 
him  with  tortures  unspeakable.  Now  it  was  just 
at  that  hour  when  the  pra}rer  must  be  said : 
"Hear,  0  Israel!  the  Lord  our  God  is  One" 

And  even  while  they  were  tearing  his  flesh  with 
combs  of  iron,  Rabbi  Akiva  uttered  the  holy  words 
and  died.  And  there  came  a  mighty  Voice  from 
heaven,  crying:  "Blessed  art  thou,  O  Rabbi 
Akiva,  for  thy  soul  and  the  word  ONE  left  thy 
body  together ! " 


216         Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai. 


RABBI  YOCHANAN  BEN  ZACHAI. 

There  is  in  Heaven  a  certain  living  creature  which  hath  letters 
upon  its  forehead.  And  by  day  t/iese  letters,  which  are  brighter 
than  the  sun,  form  the  word  TRUTH,  -whereby  the  angels  know 
that  it  is  day.  But  when  evening  cometh,  the  letters,  self-changing, 
do  shape  themselves  into  the  word  FAITH,  whereby  the  angels 
know  that  the  night  cometh.  .  .  . 

Now  Hillel  the  Great,  who  gathered  together 
the  Sedarim  of  the  Talmud,  and  who  was  also  the 
teacher  of  that  Jesus  the  Gentiles  worship,  had 
eighty  other  disciples  who  became  holy  men.  Of 
these,  thirty  were  indeed  so  holy  that  the  She- 
chinah  rested  upon  them  even  as  upon  Moses,  so 
that  their  faces  gave  out  light ;  and  rays  like 
beams  of  the  sun  streamed  from  their  temples. 

And  of  thirty  others  it  is  said  their  holiness  was 
as  the  holiness  of  Joshua,  the  son  of  Nun,  being 
worthy  that  the  sun  should  stand  still  at  their 
behest.  And  the  remaining  twenty,  of  whom  the 
greatest  was  Rabbi  Jonathan  ben  Uzziel,  and  the 
least  of  all  Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai,  were 
held  to  be  only  of  middling  worth.  Yet  there  is 
now  not  one  worthy  to  compare  with  the  least  of 
them,  seeing  that  Rabbi  Yochanan  was  holier 
than  living  man  to-day. 


Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai.         217 

For,  humble  as  he  was,  Rabbi  Yochanan  ben 
Zachai  was  deeply  learned  in  the  Scriptures,  —  in 
the  Mishna  and  the  Gemara  and  the  Midrashim, 
—  in  the  Kabbalah,  the  rules  of  Gematria,  of 
Notricon,  and  of  Temurah,  —  in  the  five  mystic 
alphabets,  Atbash,  Atbach,  Albam,  Aiakbechar, 
Tashrak,  —  in  legends  and  the  lesser  laws  and 
the  niceties,  —  in  the  theories  of  the  moon,  in  the 
language  of  angels  and  the  whispering  of  palm- 
trees  and  the  speech  of  demons.  And  if  all  the 
seas  were  ink,  and  all  the  reeds  that  shake  by 
rivers  were  pens,  and  all  the  men  of  the  earth 
were  scribes,  never  could  they  write  down  all  that 
Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai  had  learned,  nor 
even  so  much  of  it  as  he  taught  in  his  lifetime, 
which  endured  for  the  period  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  years.  Yet  he  was  the  least  of  all  the 
disciples  of  Hillel. 

Of  the  years  of  his  life  the  first  forty  he  devoted 
to  worldly  things,  especially  to  commerce,  that  he 
might  earn  enough  to  enable  him  to  devote  unto 
good  works  the  remainder  of  the  time  allotted 
him.  And  the  next  forty  years  he  devoted  to 
study,  becoming  so  learned  that  he  was  indeed 
accused  of  being  a  magician,  as  were  also  those 
Rabbis  who,  by  combination  of  the  letters  of  the 
Name  Ineffable,  did  create  living  animals  and 


218         Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai. 

fruits, —  as  were  also  Rav  Oshayah  and  Rav 
Chaneanah,  who  by  study  of  the  Book  Yetzirah 
(which  is  the  Book  of  Creation)  did  create  for 
themselves  a  calf,  and  did  eat  thereof. 

And  the  last  forty  years  of  his  most  holy  life 
Rabbi  Yochanan  gave  to  teaching  the  people. 

* 
*  * 

Now,  as  it  is  related  in  the  Book  Bava  Bathra, 
in  Seder  Nezikin  of  the  Talmud,  Rabbi  Yochanan 
ben  Zachai  did  upon  one  occasion  explain  before 
a  vain  disciple  the  words  of  the  Prophet  Isaiah. 
And  so  explaining  he  said  :  ' '  The  Most  Holy  — 
blessed  be  His  name  forever !  —  shall  take  precious 
stones  and  pearls,  each  measuring  thidy  cubits 
by  thirty  cubits,  and  shall  cut  and  polish  them  till 
they  measure  twenty  cubits  by  ten  cubits  each, 
and  shall  set  them  in  the  gates  of  Jerusalem." 

Then  the  vain  and  foolish  disciple,  the  son  of 
Impudence,  laughed  loudly,  and  with  mockery  in 
his  voice  said :  ' '  What  man  hath  ever  seen  an 
emerald  or  a  diamond,  a  ruby  or  a  pearl,  even  so 
large  as  the  egg  of  a  small  bird?  and  wilt  thou 
indeed  tell  us  that  there  be  jewels  thirty  cubits 
by  thirty?"  But  Rabbi  Yochanan  returned  no 
answer  ;  and  the  disciple,  mocking,  departed. 

Now,  some  days  after  these  things  happened, 
that  wicked  disciple  went  upon  a  voyage  ;  for  he 


Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai.         219 

was  in  commerce  and  a  great  driver  of  bargains, 
and  known  in  many  countries  for  his  skill  in  bar 
tering  and  his  ability  in  finding  objects  of  price. 
Now,  while  in  his  vessel,  when  the  sailors  slum 
bered,  waiting  to  raise  the  anchor  at  dawn,  it  was 
given  to  that  wicked  disciple  to  see  a  great  light 
below  the  waters.  And  looking  down  he  saw 
mighty  angels  in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  quarrying 
monstrous  diamonds  and  emeralds,  and  opening 
prodigious  shells  to  obtain  enormous  pearls.  And 
the  eyes  of  the  angels  were  fixed  upon  him,  even 
as  they  worked  below  the  water  in  that  awful 
light.  Then  a  dreadful  fear  came  upon  him,  so 
that  his  knees  smote  one  against  another,  and  his 
teeth  fell  out ;  and  in  obedience  to  a  power  that 
moved  his  tongue  against  his  will,  he  cried  aloud  : 
"  For  what  are  those  diamonds  and  those  mighty 
emeralds  ?  For  what  are  those  monstrous  pearls  ?  " 
And  a  Voice  answered  him  from  the  deep,  "  For 
the  gates  of  Jerusalem !  " 

And  having  returned  from  his  voyage,  the  dis 
ciple  hastened  with  all  speed  to  the  place  where 
Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai  was  teaching,  and 
told  him  that  which  he  had  seen,  and  vowed  that 
the  words  of  Rabbi  Yochanan  should  nevermore 
be  doubted  by  him. 

But  the  Rabbi,  seeing  into  his  heart,  and  be- 


220  A  Tradition  of  Titus. 

holding  the  blackness  of  the  wickedness  within  it, 
answered  in  a  voice  of  thunder :  ' '  Raca !  hadst 
thou  not  seen  them,  thou  wouldst  even  now  mock 
the  words  of  the  sages ! "  And  with  a  single 
glance  of  his  eye  he  consumed  that  wicked  dis 
ciple  as  a  dry  leaf  is  consumed  by  flame,  reducing 
the  carcass  of  his  body  to  a  heap  of  smoking 
ashes  as  though  it  had  been  smitten  by  the  light 
ning  of  the  Lord. 

And  the  people  marvelled  exceeding!}'.  But 
Rabbi  Yochanan  ben  Zachai,  paying  no  heed  to 
the  white  ashes  smoking  at  his  feet,  continued  to 
explain  unto  his  disciples  the  language  of  palm- 
trees  and  of  demons. 


A  TRADITION  OF  TITUS. 

.  .  .  Which  is  in  the  Book  GITTIN  of  the  Talmud.  .  .  .  Before 
Titus  the  world  was  like  unto  the  eyeball  of  man  ;  the  ocean  be 
ing  as  the  white,  the  world  as  the  black,  the  pupil  thereof  Jeru 
salem,  and  the  image  within  the  pvpil  the  Temple  of  the  Lord.  .  .  . 

VERILY  hath  it  been  said,  in  Chullin  of  the  Hol}T 
Shas,  that  "  sixty  iron  mines  are  suspended  in 
the  sting  of  a  gnat." 


A  Tradition  of  Titus.  221 

For  in  those  days  Titus  —  may  his  ears  be  made 
into  sockets  for  the  hinges  of  Gehenna  to  turn 
upon  !  —  came  from  Rome  with  his  idolaters,  and 
laid  siege  to  the  Holy  City,  and  destroyed  it,  and 
bore  away  the  virgins  into  captivity.  He  who 
had  not  beheld  Jerusalem  before  that  day  had  not 
seen  the  glory  of  Israel. 

There  were  three  hundred  and  ninety- four  syna 
gogues,  and  three  hundred  and  ninety-four  courts 
of  law,  and  the  same  number  of  academies  for  the 
youth.  .  .  .  When  the  gates  of  the  temple  were 
opened,  the  roar  of  their  golden  hinges  was  heard 
at  the  distance  of  eight  Sabbath  days'  journey.  .  .  . 
The  Veil  of  the  Holy  of  Holies  was  woven  by 
eighty-two  myriads  of  virgins ;  three  hundred 
priests  were  needed  to  draw  it,  and  three  hun 
dred  to  lave  it  when  soiled.  But  Titus  —  be  his 
name  accursed  forever !  —  wrapped  up  the  sacred 
vessels  in  it,  and,  putting  them  in  a  ship,  set  sail 
for  the  city  of  Rome.  .  .  . 

Scarcely  had  he  departed  beyond  sight  of  the 
land  when  a  great  storm  arose,  —  the  deeps  made 
visible  their  darkness,  the  waves  showed  their 
teeth  !  And  an  exceeding  great  fear  came  upon 
the  mariners,  and  they  cried  out,  "It  is  the 
Elohim ! " 

But  Titus,   mocking,  lifted   his  voice   against 


222  A  Tradition  of  Titus. 

Heaven,  and  the  thunders,  and  the  lightnings, 
and  the  mutterings  of  the  sea,  exclaiming :  "  Lo ! 
this  God  of  Jews  hath  no  power  save  on  water ! 
Pharaoh  He  drowned ;  Sisera  He  drowned  also ; 
even  now  He  seeketh  to  drown  me  with  my  le 
gions  !  If  He  be  mighty,  and  not  afraid  to  strive 
with  me  on  land,  let  Him  rather  await  me  on 
solid  earth,  and  there  see  whether  He  be  strong 
enough  to  prevail  against  me."  (Now  Sisera, 
indeed,  was  not  drowned  ;  but  Titus,  being  igno 
rant  and  an  idolater,  spake  falsely.) 

Then  burst  forth  a  splendor  of  white  fire  from 
the  darkness  of  the  clouds  ;  and  deeper  than  the 
thunder  a  Voice  answered  unto  him:  "O  thou 
wicked  one,  son  of  a  wicked  man  and  grandson 
of  Esau  the  wicked,  go  thou  ashore !  Lo !  I 
have  a  creature  awaiting  thee,  which  is  but  little 
and  insignificant  in  my  world ;  go  thou  and  fight 
with  it ! " 

And  the  tempest  ceased. 

So  Titus  and  his  legions  landed  after  many 
days  upon  the  shore  of  the  land  called  Italy, — 
the  shore  that  vibrated  forever  to  the  sound  of 
the  mighty  city  of  Rome,  whereof  the  Voice  was 
heard  unto  the  four  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the  din 
whereof  deafened  Rabbi  Yehoshuah  even  at  the 
distance  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles.  For  in 


A  Tradition  of  Titus.  223 

Rome  there  were  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
streets,  and  in  each  street  three  hundred  and 
sixty- five  palaces,  and  leading  up  to  the  pillared 
portico  of  each  palace  a  marble  flight  of  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  steps. 

But  no  sooner  had  the  Emperor  Titus  placed 
his  foot  upon  the  shore  than  there  attacked  him 
a  gnat !  And  the  gnat  flew  up  his  nostrils,  and 
entered  into  his  wicked  brain,  and  gnawed  it,  and 
tortured  him  with  unspeakable  torture.  And  he 
could  obtain  no  cessation  of  his  anguish  ;  neither 
was  there  any  physician  in  Rome  who  could  do 
aught  to  relieve  him.  So  the  gnat  abode  in  his 
brain  for  seven  years,  and  the  face  of  Titus  became, 

for  everlasting  pain,  as  the  face  of  a  man  in  hell. 

* 
*  * 

Now,  after  Titus  had  vainly  sacrificed  unto  all 
the  obscene  gods  of  the  Romans,  it  came  to  pass 
that  he  heard  one  day,  within  a  blacksmith's  shop, 
the  sound  of  the  hammer  descending  upon  the 
anvil ;  and  the  sound  was  grateful  to  his  ears  as 
the  harping  of  David  unto  the  hearing  of  Saul, 
and  the  anguish  presently  departed  from  him. 
Then,  thinking  unto  himself,  he  exclaimed,  "  Lo  ! 
I  have  found  relief ; "  and  having  offered  sacri 
fices  unto  the  Smith-god,  he  ordered  the  smith  to 
be  brought  to  his  palace,  together  with  anvils 


224  A  Tradition  of  Titus. 

and  hammers.  And  he  paid  the  smith  four  zou- 
zim  a  day  —  as  money  is  reckoned  in  Israel  —  to 
hammer  for  him. 

But  the  smith  could  not  hammer  unceasingly ; 
and  whenever  he  stopped  the  pain  returned,  and 
the  gnat  tormented  exceeding^.  So  other  smiths 
were  sent  for ;  and  at  last  a  Jewish  smith,  who 
was  a  slave.  To  him  Titus  would  pay  nothing, 
notwithstanding  he  had  paid  the  Gentiles  ;  for  he 
said,  "It  is  enough  payment  for  thee  to  behold 
thy  enemy  suffer  !  " 

Yet  thirty  days  more ;  and  no  sound  of  ham 
mers  could  lessen  the  agony  of  the  gnawing  of 
the  gnat,  and  Titus  knew  that  he  must  die. 

Then  he  bade  his  family  that  they  should  burn 
his  body  after  he  was  dead,  and  collect  the  ashes, 
and  send  out  seven  ships  to  scatter  the  ashes 
upon  the  waves  of  the  Seven  Seas,  lest  the  God 
of  Israel  should  resurrect  his  body  at  the  Day  of 
Judgment. 

*  * 

[But  it  is  written  in  Midrash  Kohelet,  of  the 
holy  Midrashim,  that  Hadrian  —  may  his  name 
be  blotted  out !  —  once  asked  Rabbi  Joshua  ben 
Chanania,  "  From  what  shall  the  body  be  recon 
structed  at  the  Last  Day  ?  "  And  the  Rabbi  an 
swered,  "From  Luz  in  the  backbone."  When 


A  Tradition  of  Titus.  225 

Hadrian  demanded  proof,  the  Rabbi  took  Luz, 
the  little  bone  of  the  spine,  and  immersed  it  in 
water,  and  it  was  not  softened.  He  put  it  into 
the  fire,  and  it  was  not  consumed.  He  put  it 
into  a  mill,  and  it  could  not  be  ground.  He  ham 
mered  it  upon-  an  anvil ;  but  the  hammer  was 
broken,  and  the  anvil  split  asunder. 

Therefore  the  desire  of  Titus  shall  not  prevail ; 
and  the  Lord  will  surely  reconstruct  his  body  for 
punishment  out  of  Luz  in  the  backbone  !] 

*  * 

But  before  they  burned  the  corpse  of  Titus  they 
opened  his  skull  and  looked  into  his  brain,  that 
they  might  find  the  gnat. 

Now  the  gnat  was  as  big  as  a  swallow,  and 
weighed  two  selas,  as  weight  is  reckoned  in  Israel. 
And  they  found  that  its  claws  were  of  brass,  and 
the  jaws  of  its  mouth  were  of  iron ! 


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